


I Found Peace in Your Violence

by modernnature



Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: Ack-Ack lives, All of Eugene's friends and family are miraculously allies, Canon-Typical Violence, Descriptions of the Holocaust, Except his mom, Gen, Hillbilly lives, Homophobia does not exist here, I've lost my mind, It takes a minute, Jewish Character, Jewish Merriell Shelton, M/M, Mentions of the Holocaust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:22:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 97,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26277856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/modernnature/pseuds/modernnature
Summary: “Sir, there's been some misunderstandin'. I already know how to use a rifle. I can fight. I want to fight.” Eugene has always pictured himself as a soldier. He's sure it's what he's meant to do.“Son, take a good look around. We got dozens of young men signin' on who can shoot a rifle but almost none of 'em can be a medic. You’re needed more as a medic than a fighter.” The man hands him his orders, and Eugene looks down at them in a forlorn sort of shock. “Welcome to the Army.”In a different world in a same but different war, Eugene is a combat medic in Europe.Chapters 1-14 have been updated.
Relationships: Merriell "Snafu" Shelton/Eugene Sledge
Comments: 14
Kudos: 47





	1. He Was No More Than a Baby Then

**Author's Note:**

  * For [strictlybecca](https://archiveofourown.org/users/strictlybecca/gifts).



> Alright y’all here’s the thing. I have killed myself trying to find the perfect Division/Regiment/Battalion for these guys. Eventually I decided that I was just going to have them follow along with the 101st Airborne because I know their battles better, but I had already written 10k of D-Day beach landings and I couldn’t bring myself to delete it. And anyway, I cannot ever see Snafu agreeing to jump out of a plane no matter how much extra they pay him. So I made up a place for them that’s half Airborne, half Infantry because I was driving myself nuts. Forgive me.

Eugene has never wanted to be a doctor, really. He doesn’t hate the sight or smell of blood - he hunts and fishes with his father and brother and always has - but he’s never had much of an interest in healing the sick or wounded, much to his mother’s disappointment. He knows she's always wanted her sons to follow in their father's footsteps but neither of them seem to have the necessary nurturing instinct.

Eugene makes the decision to join the army after two years of arguing with his father over his damnable heart murmur. He's stayed behind while his best friend Sidney Phillips enlisted in the Marines right after Pearl Harbor and his own brother joined the Army as an officer. In his heart of hearts Eugene wants to be a fighting man. He doesn’t much care if he’s got a rifle, a machine gun, or a piece of artillery; he just knows he wants to defend his country with arms and ammunition the same as every other young man around him. 

It's a Thursday afternoon in 1943 when Eugene rides his bicycle down to the recruitment station near the docks. He's spent a long time arguing with his father about him joining the war but he doesn't want to wait any longer. He's newly 19 - he doesn't need his father's permission any longer. He's wearing his nicest slacks and button up, just a step below his Sunday best. He figures it's the biggest day of his life and he should dress up for it. Despite the fact that the war has been on for two plus years, there's still lines of young men waiting to enlist and serve their country in the most gallant and courageous way. 

It's as hot and humid as it ever is in Mobile, Alabama. He sweats in line for half an hour before he steps up to face a rugged-looking older man set up behind a desk. The enlistment officer takes his paperwork and glances over it. “Sledge. You must be the doctor’s boy." His familiar accent gives him away as a local - he's likely met or even been a patient of Eugene's father before.

"Yes sir, I am."

"You got any medical knowledge? Ever follow your old man to work?” The man fixes Eugene with a stern look and he can feel a drop of sweat following the length of his spine. He’s standing as straight as he can, trying to look as serious and respectful as he’s ever looked in his 19 years of life. 

“Yes, sir, some.” Eugene tries to keep the confusion out of his voice at the question. He hadn’t expected to be answering questions about his father while he's trying to enlist. 

“Good, then you’ll be a medic.” The man's voice is short and leaves no room for argument as he marks something down on a piece of paper. A jolt of anxiety sparks in Eugene's chest at the words. Despite the authority in his voice, Eugene shakes his head fervently.

“Sir, there's been some misunderstandin'. I already know how to use a rifle. I can fight. I want to fight.” It's known that medics are usually men who object to the thought of killing another person, that they're soft-hearted cowards who don't belong in a war and it's hardly the reputation Eugene wants attached to himself. Besides, since this war began Eugene has always pictured himself as a soldier. He's sure it's what he's meant to do. 

“Son, take a good look around. We got dozens of young men signin' on who can shoot a rifle but almost none of 'em can be a medic. You’re needed more as a medic than a fighter.” The man hands him his orders, and Eugene looks down at them in a forlorn sort of shock. “Welcome to the Army.” 

  


* * *

  


Basic training is hard for Eugene. While the fighting men are quick to form bonds of friendship and brotherhood, the medics can't make attachments so easily. They sleep separately, eat separately, and practice field medicine while the others are learning how to aim and fire their weapons. The men who train the medics warn them off of getting too friendly with the men in their company. It’ll be harder to treat a serious injury on a friend, harder to make the call about whether or not it’s worth the time and resources to save a man or if he’s too far gone. It’s hard to make friends with the other medics because they’re constantly aware of the fact that most of them will be separated and sent to different battalions and companies. What's the point of bonding if it'll end in a few short months? 

Eugene knows loneliness. It was a constant companion during his bouts of illness as a child and it returned with a vengeance once Sid joined the Marines and shipped off to some God-forsaken island. But he never imagined he’d feel lonely when he’s never more than spitting distance away from at least ten other men. 

He throws himself into his work to distract from the feeling of isolation. He relentlessly practices applying bandages and learns how to stem bleeding in a man’s arms, legs, chest, head. He pops more blisters than he’d ever imagined seeing. (Blisters are a surprisingly dangerous thing for a soldier. They form almost constantly on the feet and heels of a marching man and they can pop without warning, becoming susceptible to infection.) He can sprinkle sulfa powder, pack a wound, and apply a bandage in record time. He knows that he makes a good and efficient medic but he finds that he’s still jealous of the men who learn how to kill instead of heal. 

Medics aren't spared the tedium of marching or formations. They have to be just as physically fit as any soldier in order to be useful on a battlefield. They have to dodge incoming fire, race to wounded soldiers, march alongside their units. But he finds that he dreads the time spent with the fighting men despite his loneliness. When they go on marches the men always turn to Eugene for help with their bleeding and blistered feet, but as soon as he’s done treating them they go back to ignoring him or making snide remarks about the lack of a rifle at his side. They all assume he’s a conscientious objector, and they hiss “coward” at him as he walks by. He clenches his fists and his jaw and keeps his mouth decidedly shut. It isn't worth getting in trouble for fighting.

To his great relief, he doesn't remain completely friendless. Over time he finds companionship with two riflemen in his platoon, Bill Leyden and Robert Oswalt. They reach out to him more than once with easy injuries (a sprained wrist and a concussion being the first two), and after he treats them they start seeking out his company for more than small hurts. 

Bill is a small man with a big, broad New York accent and an incredible amount of attitude. Despite his diminutive size he quickly proves to the other men that he is not to be trifled with. He's an excellent shot and a good soldier, obedient and fierce in turn. He puts some of this ferocity to work defending Eugene. He finds himself strangely touched the first time Bill headbutts someone who calls him a coward. Leyden in particular goes out of his way to bring Eugene cups of coffee and invite him out on the rare occasions that they have weekend passes.

Oswalt is a California boy with a disposition so kind and naive that he seems out of place in the army. He's handsome and smart. He's good at admitting his vulnerability - that he misses home and his parents - which makes Eugene feel protective of him even though he's two years older. 

By the time they ship out, Eugene considers them two of the best friends he's ever had. He loneliness inside of him eases just a little. 

  


* * *

  


At the onset of 1942, Eugene had never been outside the confines of Alabama. Its fields, forests, and beaches were the only home he’d ever known. When he and his brother were small, Eugene’s father used to take them to the docks to see the big ships bringing in goods and sailors from all over the world. Eugene would always imagine all the places they’d been and the things they’d seen and make up wild stories to act out when he played. 

10 months after he’s enlisted in the army, Eugene has crossed the Mason-Dixon line, seen New York City, and sailed across the Atlantic Ocean to arrive in England. When he disembarks, the first thing he notices is that everything here is so green. Eugene had always thought that Alabama in the springtime was green, but it’s nothing compared to the velvet that blankets England’s hills. Even the air feels and smells different. It's mossy and damp in a way that Alabama rarely is, despite it's humidity. It isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but every breath reminds him how far he is from home. His stomach churns with anxiety and homesickness the minute he steps into this verdant, foreign place.

He, Bill, and Oswalt are pointed to the converted cottage where their squad is billeted. Nerves roil in Eugene’s stomach and make him feel like he might be sick. He's never really liked meeting new people, and these men aren't just random strangers - they'll be his family for all intents and purposes for the foreseeable future. Meeting their company is starting to make the war real in a way that Eugene hadn’t been expecting. Meeting these men means that they're getting ready to fight together. It just cements in Eugene's mind the fact that they'll soon ship out and be put in real and pressing danger.

He pushes open the door to the cottage and steps in. The first thing he notices is the smell. While not entirely overpowering or unpleasant, it's not exactly nice either. The odor of ten or so men sharing one small space hangs in the air - sweat and cigarettes and unwashed laundry. Underneath all of that is a faint hint of damp stone. The cottage is one large stone room with an old wood floor that is solid enough not to squeak when he steps on it. Bunks are set up along the walls. Soldiers have hung pictures of wives and sweethearts next to their bunks as well as pictures from comic books or magazines. There are many pictures of pin-up models, some of them explicit enough to have Eugene averting his eyes with red cheeks.

There’s a handful of soldiers resting on their bunks, the nearest being three soldiers lounging on or around one particular bed. One’s sitting on the end of the mattress and he has the bluest eyes that Eugene has ever seen. A younger-looking soldier sits on the floor with his back up against the bunk as he flips through some sort of comic book. Reclining back on the pillows is a skinny young man with darker skin and riotous curls. There’s a gun in his lap that he’s cleaning meticulously with a toothbrush. He glances up as Eugene steps in with the others behind him, and his pale blue-green gaze flickers to the red cross on Eugene’s arm. 

“We’re looking for the 3rd Infantry, 5th Division?” Oswalt smiles in that open, friendly way he has that reminds Eugene of his dog Deacon. He only gets flat looks in response.

The blue-eyed man stays seated but looks up at them. “You’ve found ‘em.” He’s got a heavy Texas accent, and Eugene is relieved to hear another southerner after spending so much time with Leyden and Oswalt. 

“I’m Eugene Sledge, K35.” Leyden and Oswalt introduce themselves in low murmurs, taking in the barrack around them that’ll be their home for God only knows how long.

“I’m Sergeant Burgin. I’m leader of second squad. This here’s De L'Eau.” He points to the young man who raises a hand in greeting, a neutral expression on his face. “That’s Snafu.” The curly-haired man grunts but doesn’t initially look up and the man on the floor - De L'Eau - laughs and shakes his head. Snafu's mouth stretches into a predatory grin as his eyes flicker up to Eugene then back down to the gun he’s cleaning. Eugene has to fight the urge to take a step back but he stands his ground, refusing to show weakness. 

“So you’re our new medic?” Burgin’s voice is neutral bordering on disinterested, but when Eugene nods he holds out a hand to shake. “Good to have you.” Eugene shakes his hand and hopes to high heavens his palms aren’t clammy.

“Last medic got it in Tunisia,” Snafu drawls, and Eugene’s eyes dart over to him. He leans forward with a smile on his face that’s all teeth. Eugene’s stomach drops and swoops back into place again in a way that makes him feel dizzy. “Hope you last a little longer.”

De L’Eau reaches over and punches Snafu hard in the leg making him hiss and kick out at him. Blessedly, this also breaks his focus on Eugene. “Jesus Christ, Snaf. He hasn’t even seen the fuckin’ war yet.” De L’Eau makes his way to his feet with a groan, stretching out his back. “Come on, I’ll help you guys find a bunk.”

At the opposite end of the cottage there’s a few cots set up that haven’t been claimed yet. The bedding sits folded at the foot of the bed, and when Eugene reaches out to touch it the material rasps against his fingers. 

De L’Eau watches him with a look that could be sympathy. “You get used to it. Welcome to England.” He turns and heads back to the others, his dog tags jingling against his chest as he goes.

Eugene swallows hard as he sets his bag on the cot and starts to make this corner his home.

  


* * *

  


While the veterans don’t exactly welcome Eugene and the rest of the new boots with open arms, most of them aren’t blatantly unfriendly either. The other men spend an exhausting amount of time on the firing range and learning how to break down and reconstruct various weapons, which Eugene isn’t a part of. But when it comes to crawling under barbed wire under machine gun fire, practice digging and sleeping in foxholes, and practice loading and unloading various types of landing craft, Eugene is right there beside them. That seems to earn him at least a little respect in the eyes of the others. 

One thing Eugene learns about these veterans is that they treat medics differently than those in the States had. Having experienced combat firsthand, they’ve learned the value of a good medic and most of the company welcomes Eugene without much issue. Over time, he starts to learn more about the men he’ll fight for and beside.

Andrew "Ack-Ack" Haldane is the Captain of their company. He’s tall and strong, ceaselessly kind and relentlessly handsome. Despite his position of authority, he never shouts at his men but instead makes them crave his praise so hard they’ll work themselves to the bone to get it. His right hand man is Eddie “Hillbilly” Jones, a giant twig of a man with a hill country accent so thick and broad it makes Eugene feel like a northerner. He spent plenty of time as an enlisted man before getting a battlefield commission somewhere in North Africa. The two of them often check in with Eugene, make sure he’s got enough supplies and that the men are treating him with respect, and their individual attention never fails to make Eugene feel important. They work together with a kind of cooperation that is stunning to watch. They anticipate the moves the other will make before they even make them. They have the absolute loyalty of all of their men, and it doesn’t take Eugene long to fall in with his comrades in that respect.

Burgin is their squad leader. His eyes really are as blue as they’d first appeared, and despite their icy color they are always warm when he talks to Eugene. He has a take-no-shit kind of attitude that Eugene respects and envies. When Eugene asks him what he thinks their futures hold, Burgie is blunt. 

“We’ll be invading Europe, but only Ike knows where or when that’ll be.” He shrugs. “As long as we work hard and follow orders, most of us will probably make it.” It's not the most comforting thing Eugene's ever been told but he appreciates the honesty.

De L’Eau is barely older than Eugene, but he moves with a bone-deep weariness that marks him as a combat veteran. He’s funny in a dry sort of way, and he always offers to set Eugene in the right direction when he gets lost.

Snafu is… something else. He oozes confidence that Eugene isn’t sure he’s earned. It seems to be his life’s mission to aggravate the new guys until they’re ready to shoot him instead of Germans, and Eugene knows some of the guys have come close. Snafu teases and taunts and finds every sore spot inside a man and pokes at it until his victim is ready to cry or punch Snafu in the face. He himself is incredibly quick to anger, but doesn’t seem to care that his own offhand comments can barb and sting.

He can be unaccountably cruel. Eugene has seen him verbally berate several new members of his squad nearly to tears for seemingly minor infractions. The day before a ten-mile march, one private called Owens receives a letter from home announcing that his little sister has died. The next day on the march about four miles in, Owens breaks down into tears on the side of the path. Both Eugene and Bill stop to try and comfort him and move him along slowly when they hear a snort behind them. 

Snafu is standing with his arms crossed. “You think the fuckin’ Krauts are gonna care that your feelings are hurt? They’ll shoot your brains out without a second thought as soon as they see you standin' still. Pick up your shit and get a move on.” He walks away, jogging a little to catch up with Burgin and leaving Eugene behind in shock that someone could be so callous.

Then there’s the time when Eugene, Oswalt, and Bill are all told to follow Snafu by a lieutenant. Snafu leads them to an enormous truck filled to the roof with heavy boxes full of ammunition. The three toil hard for most of the afternoon and are drenched in sweat by the time Bill sets a box down hard. He turns to glare at Snafu who is leisurely smoking a cigarette and watching them from his seat on a pile of the boxes they’ve just moved. 

“Be careful with them boxes, Leyden. You’ll need that ammunition when you’re in some fuckin’ foxhole shootin’ at I-talians or Krauts and cryin’ for your mama. You’ll wish you were back here movin’ boxes.” 

“If they’re so important, why don’t you come help us move them?” Bill’s voice is sharp. 

Snafu leans back with a smirk. “Fuck that shit. I move boxes for no man.”

Eugene is breathing hard, his PT shirt soaked with sweat at the neck and underarms. He pushes some sweaty hair off of his forehead and looks at Snafu out of the corner of his eyes. “Can we take a break?”

“Do whatever you want. This ain’t my detail. I was supposed to dump y’all off here and report back to the CP.” 

Oswalt looks up at him with an exasperated expression. “Then why are you still here?”

Snafu’s smirk spreads into a malicious grin. “I like to watch the new guys sweat.” Eugene is so, so tired in that moment as he lets out a furious little breath.

Oswalt and Bill trade incredulous looks. Bill drops the box he’s holding and storms off, followed quickly by Oswalt. Eugene stops and stares at him for a minute in disbelief as Snafu grins before he too turns and walks away. 

Snafu takes to following Eugene around, whining about a dozen new imagined illnesses and demanding that Eugene look over him and tell him if he’s dying. 

“I think I got TB, Sledge.” He’s got a warm, syrupy drawl that would soothe Eugene if its owner wasn’t so goddamn irritating. 

“You do not have tuberculosis, Snafu. I haven’t heard you cough once.” Eugene is writing a letter to his brother and he doesn’t even turn around to face him until Snafu puts a hand on his shoulder. 

“I know I got it. Come listen to my lungs.” He unbuttons his shirt and gestures to his chest. Eugene rolls his eyes and goes back to trying to explain his current life to his sibling.

All of this time spent together means that Eugene has an awful lot of time to notice some of the strange things about Snafu. 

Snafu takes his gun apart at least once a night, inspecting and cleaning each individual part to make sure it’s in top condition. Eugene likes to sit and watch while he does this, finding comfort in the routine. Snafu's hands aren't particularly elegant but they move with such precision and delicacy that Eugene finds himself entranced by them in any case. 

Snafu has a habit of staring at a person with an unsettlingly focused gaze that makes Eugene feel as though he is being examined, picked apart from the outside in until all of his thoughts have been laid bare. 

Fortunately for Eugene, this is not the case because one of the things that Eugene can't stop noticing is how handsome Snafu is, in an odd sort of way. Snafu surely doesn’t look like the all-American soldier on posters. He’s not blonde or fair-skinned, not particularly tall, not broad of shoulder. Instead he’s rail skinny, all bones and angles covered by dark skin and dark curls. He’s a tiny bit shorter than Eugene is, and while he doesn’t consider himself short he knows he’s not tall either. But Eugene likes the way his curls are just a little long to be regulation. He likes Snafu’s slow, sticky drawl and the stupid smile he gets when he thinks he’s bested you. He likes his sharp angles. 

Eugene’s not sure if it’s his eyes, his looks, or that cocksure attitude he has, but sometimes he finds himself just looking at Snafu, examining the pattern of his curls, counting the scars on his face and hands. He almost always gets caught by Snafu eventually and red spreads across the bridge of his nose, over his cheeks, and up around his ears. It isn’t the first time he’s noticed how handsome a particular fellow is and he’s had some practice learning to ignore that particular train of thought, but it doesn’t help that Snafu is just always around. He's there when Eugene wakes up in the morning, when he goes to bed at night, and consistently throughout the day. The only time Eugene gets any respite from his own thoughts is during his medic training and even then his thoughts will sometimes wander to places he'd rather stay away from.

  


* * *

  


A few weeks after Eugene gets to England, he sacks out after a long day of drills and practicing packing abdominal wounds. He feels like he’s just managed to fall asleep when he’s woken up by someone whispering “hey Sledge” so close that he can feel the person’s lips brush against the shell of his ear. He blinks his eyes open slowly and sleepily with a little noise of dissatisfaction. Snafu’s face is inches away from his own, close enough to kiss - and boy does Eugene shut that line of thinking down quick. Eugene jolts and flails backwards and Snafu reaches out and snags the front of his white t-shirt to keep him from tumbling out of bed, reeling him back in close. Snafu is grinning, unguardedly and infuriatingly amused. He reeks of liquor.

“Jesus Christ, Snafu,” Eugene snaps, keeping his voice low in an effort not to wake anyone else up. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Need you to fix me up, Sledge.” Now that Eugene has blinked the sleep from his eyes and can see him more clearly, he notices that Snafu’s left eye is swollen almost shut. A bruise has already begun to bloom above his cheekbone and there’s a cut beneath his eye that’s weeping blood. Honestly, it’s nothing that Snafu couldn’t have taken care of himself but Eugene’s not sure how drunk he is and he’s awake now anyhow.

“It’s the middle of the night,” he grouses, feeling obligated to at least make a show of his annoyance. He pushes Snafu away and swings his legs to the side of the mattress and pulls his boots onto his bare feet. He’s essentially in his PT gear, a white t-shirt and gym shorts, and he can feel goosebumps pop up over his arms now that he’s exposed to the chilly night air. He stands and stretches his arms over his head, bending this way and that to make his spine pop. He looks at Snafu only to see him hastily look away as though he’s been caught peeking at somewhere he shouldn’t. Eugene pulls his shirt back down where it’s rucked up over his belly and gestures for Snafu to follow him. 

They leave the cottage quietly and move toward the nearby building that’s been turned into a med center. They shouldn’t be out walking around after curfew but Eugene figures if they’re quiet enough they might not get caught by the MPs. He fumbles with the door handle for a minute before he eases open the door and gestures for Snafu to follow him through it. 

The cots in the building are blessedly empty meaning that the doctors and nurses who hover in the area during the day have returned to their billets for the night. Once the door is securely shut, Eugene turns the light on. He points to the nearest empty bed and Snafu sits while Eugene goes to find a bottle of antiseptic and some cotton balls. He grabs a wound closure strip as well just in case the cut under his eye needs a little help healing. 

“Gonna tell me what happened?” Eugene walks back over to the bed and stands over Snafu, dabbing at the cut with some damp cloth first to clean it. It’s clear that whoever hit Snafu was wearing a ring, but the cut doesn’t need stitches and should heal just fine with the bandage.

“Got punched in the eye,” Snafu drawls, sounding smug. Eugene rolls his eyes heavenward and prays for strength as he soaks some cotton with antiseptic. 

“I figured that much.” He dabs the cut with antiseptic and kisses his teeth when Snafu hisses and flinches away. He takes Snafu’s chin in his fingers and pulls his face back to where it was before. “Don’t be such a baby.”

He continues to press the cotton against the cut, and he flicks his gaze up at Snafu’s eyes just in time to see them flicker down to his mouth. Eugene realizes he’s biting his bottom lip in what was concentration, but he’s definitely not concentrating anymore. At least not on the cut. 

Snafu meets his eyes again. His gaze is heavy and heated and Eugene feels pinned, rooted to the spot. He’s suddenly very aware of the fact that he’s standing between Snafu’s spread knees wearing a t-shirt and his PT shorts that only fall to mid-thigh. Snafu has the upper hand as far as clothes go. He’s wearing his summer uniform and he cuts a nice figure, all lean muscle beneath the fabric. 

An alarm is flashing in the back of Eugene’s brain, screaming at him to stop being a moron and back away. He wants so badly to tell his own brain to take a hike, to let himself have this just once, but he knows better. He clears his throat and takes a step back, letting go of Snafu’s jaw. He turns around and fumbles with the wrapping on the bandage, giving himself a moment to recover. Once the bandage is free, he turns back and gently holds the edges of the wound together before putting the bandage on. 

“It’ll feel strange, but leave that on for a day or two until it starts to scab over.” He notices that his own voice seems a little hoarser than it did before. He drops his hands away from Snafu’s face. His eyes flutter between Snafu’s and down to his own hands. He can feel Snafu’s eyes on him and he cracks his knuckles nervously. 

Snafu makes to get up off the bed and Eugene steps back a few paces to give him room. Snafu smiles at him again but it’s warmer this time. It isn’t just a show of teeth but something that’s almost genuinely friendly. “Thanks, Sledgehammer.” He loosens his tie as he walks out of the cottage and Eugene sits heavily on the recently vacated cot. By the time he's regained his composure and headed back to the cottage, Snafu is in his bed asleep.

For a while after that Snafu keeps his distance. Eugene assumes that he, like himself, is worried about the other’s reaction and whether or not anything will be said to a superior officer. But days go by, and then a week and nothing happens, so they relax around each other again. There’s a sort of trust between them now. They both understand and acknowledge the moment that had passed between them, and they have silently agreed not to mention it.

Things change between Eugene and Snafu after that. Snafu continues to call him Sledgehammer, a nickname which is picked up by the rest of the men in short order. Eugene knows it’s a sign of acceptance, but he’s not sure that it suits him. He feels more like a reflex hammer than a sledgehammer most of the time. Those that don’t call him Sledgehammer start calling him Doc.

Snafu starts spending more time with Eugene than he did before, but instead of nagging him about whatever disease he imagines he has today, they spend time in companionable silence or talking about things that friends would talk about: home, family.

Unfortunately, some of their conversations revolve around girls, a topic that Eugene has never enjoyed. 

“You got a sweetheart back home, Sledgehammer?” They’re sitting across from each other during dinner, eating something that the cooks are trying to pass off as meatloaf. Eugene chokes on a mouthful and Burgie reaches over to slam on his back a few times. 

Eyes watering, he looks up at Snafu. “What? No. I woulda told you if I did.” 

Snafu shrugs. “You’re a quiet kinda guy. Never know what’s happenin’ inside that head.” He’s smirking like he knew this would be Eugene’s reaction. Eugene wishes he could reach across the table and throttle him. “You kissed a girl before though, right Sledgehammer?”

“I have,” he states, trying to sound more confident than he feels. Maybe he can make it sound like he really liked it. His stomach flops uncomfortably. He knows where this conversation is headed.

“You fucked a girl?” 

“Shut up, Snafu.” He can feel the heat radiating from his cheeks. Eugene doesn’t look at him as Snafu starts to laugh loudly. Of course this draws more eyes over to them and Eugene thinks his face might combust, he’s blushing so hard. 

“I guess that's a no. Wow, a real live virgin,” Snafu says with his stupid shit-eating grin. He leans his chin on his closed fist, blinking slowly at Eugene. De L’Eau is laughing so hard Eugene thinks he might choke. He kind of wishes he would. “Burgie, you hear him? You meet a virgin in this camp ‘sides him?”

“Leave him alone, Snaf.” Burgie sounds long-suffering, but there’s a small quirk at the side of his mouth and Eugene glares at him too. Everyone knows that Burgie’s been seeing a local English girl named Florence, and he’s sure they don’t spend all day talking. 

There’d been some girls back in Mobile who he could have taken out and that probably would have let him take them to bed, but he’d never felt anything special about any of them. There was Belle Mason in particular with her strawberry blonde hair, cream-colored skin, and a figure that had other boys drooling. Despite his awkwardness she’d always been kind to him and gone out of her way to talk to him after he’d enlisted. They danced together during his last night on the town before he’d left for basic training. He’d been in his uniform and she’d been wearing a pretty dark blue dress that was striking alongside the color of her hair. At the end of the night she’d taken his hand and led him around the corner from the club. She’d leaned up against the wall and pulled him in close and he’d kissed her for a long time. Looking back on it Eugene thinks she'd enjoyed herself, but when they’d stopped kissing he still dropped her off at home before her curfew. She’d looked disappointed and she hadn’t promised to write. He didn’t mean to insult her or make her feel unwanted. He just felt as though he was being dishonest with her. He knew how other boys felt when they had a pretty girl pressed warm and soft against their fronts - they never shut up about how it felt, in truth - and he just hadn’t felt it. There was no attraction, no desire, no passion for her. He didn’t want to lead her on, and he certainly wasn’t going to take a girl to bed and risk getting her into trouble or ruining her reputation just so he could say he did it. Now he almost wishes he had. 

It takes a while for Snafu to let go of the idea that Eugene's never fucked anyone. He dogs Eugene’s steps as they move through the next few days asking invasive and frankly offensive questions. 

“Ain’t you afraid you’ll die a virgin?”

“What’s as far as you’ve gone with a girl then?”

“When you like a girl, you an ass man or a tits man?”

“Give it a goddamn rest, Snafu!”

But their friendship isn’t always teasing and irritation. (Flirting, his mind supplies unhelpfully.) Eugene learns there’s more to Snafu than biting or annoying remarks. 

It’s an unusually warm English May day, and Eugene and the other warm climate boys flock outside to absorb what weak rays of sun they can. Eugene is sitting on the green grass in front of their cottage with his eyes closed. He’s taken his shirt off and folded it neatly beside him with his boots and socks on top of it. He can feel the bare skin of his shoulders and the tops of his feet start to burn and freckle and he relishes in the feeling of being warmed through. 

Something drops into his lap and he peeks one eye open. There’s a folded piece of paper on his lap and he furrows his brow. He shields his eyes with a hand and looks up at Snafu who towers above him, scowling. Eugene goes through the past few days and tries to think of anything he might have done or said that would have warranted such a look from him.

“You’re a good reader, ain’t that right?” There’s no context for this question, and Eugene sits in quiet bemusement for a moment.

“Uh, I suppose so.” He’s never considered it much, but his grades have always been decent and his teachers never had any complaints about his reading.

Snafu sits down heavily next to him, his eyes lingering for a short moment on the pink-turning-red of Eugene’s shoulders. “I’m writin’ a letter to my little sister. I wanna make sure it looks good.”

Eugene waits for a few beats but it appears that is the only information forthcoming. “Would you like me to read it over for you?” 

Shrugging as though it matters very little to him Snafu drawls, “Only if you want.”

With a small smile Eugene unfolds the letter in his lap. 

Snafu’s handwriting is unrefined in a way that would have driven Eugene’s teachers off the wall and his spelling is far from perfect. But the words of the letter drip with warmth and affection in a way that Eugene is almost surprised Snafu is capable of. His sister must be young, Eugene figures, because Snafu encourages her to listen to their mother and practice her spelling. He writes of missing home, missing his sisters and his mama, and of all the ways England is different from Louisiana. He reassures her that he’s eating well and that he has friends. Eugene finds his own name mentioned here as one of the friends Snafu now has and he can’t help but shoot a fond smile over at him. There’s French words interspersed with the English ones throughout the letter.

“What’s minouette? You use it a lot.”

Snafu looks a little flustered like maybe he’s embarrassed that Eugene noticed or is asking. “It means little cat.” At Eugene’s questioning look Snafu sighs again. “She used to curl up like a little kitten and the name just kinda stuck.”

Eugene finishes the letter (signed off with “your loving big brother, Merriell”) and uses a pencil that Snafu supplies to make a few quick edits. When he's done, he hands it back to Snafu. “It’s a good letter. She’ll be glad to have it.” Snafu mumbles his thanks and tucks the paper back into his pocket but he doesn’t make any motions to leave. “You must miss ‘em.”

“Don’t you miss your home, Sledgehammer?”

Eugene hums as he tries to put it into words. “I miss Alabama. It’s so different here. Back home it’s all wildflowers and dried out grass and here’s so green. Sometimes it’s nice to be away from Mother and Father,” he admits, feeling ashamed to say it out loud. “Mother especially. She can be… a trial. She loves me but she thinks I’m fragile. I know it makes me sound ungrateful, but it's nice to be someplace where she can't control me.”

“I miss my mama more’n anything. Ain’t a warmer woman in this world than my mama.” Snafu sounds completely confident in this assertion and it makes Eugene smile. “My sisters are trouble but I miss them too, more’n I ever thought I would.”

Hearing Snafu talk about his family is like listening to a different man. He’s warm and openly loving about these women in his life. He’s sure none of the others would believe him if he told them but he finds himself wanting to keep Snafu’s softness to himself like a secret.

When they go back into the cottage (after Snafu declares that Eugene’s skin is too red, and he’s right) Snafu pulls a picture of his family out of his chest of belongings and passes it over. It’s an older picture of a warm-looking woman beaming as she holds the hands of two pretty little girls. The girls both have dark curls like Snafu does and the same large eyes. Standing beside the girls is a young Snafu. He's tall and skinny and the bones of his knees stand out starkly in his legs. A tall and broad man stands behind him with his hands on his son's shoulders with a big white smile standing out in his dark face. It's clear to Eugene that it's a significant sign of trust to be shown this picture and he feels a warmth and pride at the thought.

As they grow closer, Eugene also learns that Snafu’s Jewish. It’s a surprise to him. When he thinks Louisiana he doesn’t exactly imagine Jewish people - but then again, as he confesses to Snafu, he’s never met a Jewish person before. 

“I bet you have, Sledgehammer. We just don’t scream it from the rooftops.”

Once he sees that softness in Snafu he can’t help but notice it all the time. Snafu offers a cigarette to whoever is around every time he pulls one out for himself. On a training exercise he sees Eugene fighting with his can opener and offers to trade him his already-open can. He watches Snafu pet every single animal he comes across and coo at them in French. Even his seemingly-cruel words and actions are misguided attempts at help and protection. He’s formed his hard shell to protect himself and not because he’s hateful, Eugene realizes. It makes Eugene's feelings for him grow and turn solid until he can't deny them anymore. He tries his best to ignore them but they dog his steps. 

As the weeks go by and the misty chill of spring turns into the misty chill of summer (it is England, after all), Snafu becomes a good friend to Eugene. He, Bill, Burgie, De L’Eau and the others get Eugene through the toughest weeks of his life so far. He just hopes they’ll be able to get each other through what’s to come in the following years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song title is from Edge of Seventeen by Stevie Nicks.


	2. No Breather for the Braves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After months of training and preparing, the day finally comes where Eugene is expected to help invade Europe. Late, late on the 5th, they are finally told that this is it - this is the start to the trip across the channel and into France. D-Day.

After months of training and preparing, the day finally comes where Eugene is expected to help support the invasion of Europe.

When Eugene boards the LCI on June 4th, 1944 he can almost, almost believe it’s just another training exercise. They’re just going to practice loading everyone up onto the ship, practice settling in, and then practice unloading again. But then they’re told that this is it, and Eugene can feel the panic creeping along his spine and into his throat. 

They sail across the Channel and toward the coast of France, all the soldiers gray-faced and anxious in one way or another. They gear up and try to prepare themselves but the heavens open and a deluge starts, and so the invasion is delayed. For two days the soldiers and sailors wait on the LCI for their chance to start the end of the war. Emotions are running high and fights break out over card games and careless words. The ship smells of vomit, and pathetic-looking seasick soldiers sit in their misery. There’s not much Eugene can do for them but encourage them to drink more water. 

In the meantime, the English Channel is a sight to see. Ships are packed alongside one another - warships and transport ships and minesweepers - so tight that it almost looks like a man could walk across the decks from one ship to the other for a mile.

Late, late on the 5th of June, they are finally told that this is it - this is the start to the trip across the channel and into France. D-Day.

Every soldier on every ship has been waiting for this day for untold months. It doesn’t matter if they’re American, English, Polish, Norwegian, Canadian, or French. Just yesterday Eugene had been as eager as anything to get into the war and get started beating the Germans. Now he clings to the rail on the deck and tries to keep the panic from washing over him like a tidal wave. His hands and feet are tingling and no matter how deep a breath he takes, he feels like the air never reaches the bottom of his lungs. He grips the rail so tightly his fingers ache, and he isn’t sure if the moisture on his brow is sweat or seawater. 

He doesn’t hear Snafu come up behind him, so he jumps when their shoulders brush together as Snafu stands next to him. “You alright, Sledgehammer?”

Eugene turns to answer him, but he just keeps panting in futile breaths. Even if he could find the words he wants to say, he's not sure his voice would cooperate enough to get them out without screaming. Snafu tsks, but he doesn’t look unkind or contemptuous. He hesitates for a moment, then puts his hand between Eugene’s shoulder blades and rubs a small circle into his skin through his uniform. “Focus on my hand, Sledgehammer.” He takes Eugene’s hand and holds the back of it to his own chest. “Match your breathin’ to mine.” 

The next few minutes pass like hours, but eventually the feeling comes back into Eugene’s extremities and he feels less like he’s about to topple off of some invisible precipice and never stop falling. He still feels vaguely nauseated and as shaky as a newborn foal but at least he's comfortably sure he isn't going to end up curled into the fetal position on the deck of a warship. “How’d you know to do that?”

“Agnes used to have fits like that.” Snafu lets Eugene’s hand go and takes his own back in order to light himself a cigarette, but he doesn’t move away. Their shoulders are still brushing and Eugene grounds himself using the warm, firm point of contact. “Mama tried lots of things before she found somethin’ that worked.”

“Thank you.” Eugene’s voice is strained from the stress but his appreciation is evident. 

Snafu looks momentarily uncomfortable as though he isn’t sure what he’s meant to do with Eugene’s gratitude. “Sure. Can’t have our medic too scared to function.”

Such an obvious brush-off would have rankled Eugene a few months ago but he knows better now. He knows that Snafu isn’t comfortable with thank yous or sorrys, so he lets any beginnings of irritation float away on the current in the water below.

Eugene wakes up at 3:30 the next morning. He has a cup of mediocre coffee and a mild breakfast to soothe the rumbling in his stomach which is a contrast to the large breakfasts that most of the other soldiers indulge in. He watches them eat their fill with trepidation, not trusting the strength of their stomachs. He leaves them to it and goes to get ready. 

To keep his nerves from getting the best of him again, Eugene checks and rechecks his gear. He’s got his drab olive helmet emblazoned with a stark white circle and red cross and an armband to match. He’s got sulfanilamide tablets and powder to help stave off infection in wounded men. He’s got enough gauze, compresses, and bandages of all shapes and sizes that it feels like he’ll be able to treat the whole army though he knows it likely won’t be enough even for K35. It’s all wrapped in wax paper to keep it dry. He also has his bible neatly wrapped in wax and tucked in behind the bandages. His signet ring is off of his finger and strung around his neck to keep it off of his hands when he has to help put broken men back together. He organizes and reorganizes his pack a dozen times to keep the gnawing fear quiet in the back of his mind. 

Once he's done he begins the task of looking around to make sure his squad is accounted for. He finds Leyden first and steps forward to help him double check his pack. He taps Bill's shoulder once he's certain that Bill has everything in order. Bill turns to look at him with a resolute expression and gives off an air of fierce determination. “We’ll get it done, Eugene.” Eugene nods back at him and feels his helmet bobble.

As part of the first wave, Eugene’s company is the first to get called up to get ready. When the time comes the men gather around the side of the ship where the nets are slung over the side. Below are Higgins Boats bobbing wildly in the choppy water. They seem so much farther down than they ever had in practice. Eugene feels another wave of panic wash over him which he tamps down as best as he can. As he follows his company to the edge of the boat, Ack-Ack and Hillbilly are waiting by the side to greet each individual man, possibly for the last time. They’ll board last but move to the front of the boat and be the first to disembark, ready to lead their men into action no matter the consequences.

“Good luck, Sledge,” says Ack-Ack, looking serious but not grim. He holds out a hand and Eugene shakes it. Despite the chill in the air his hand is warm and callused and his handshake is firm and comforting. “See you on the beach.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you sir.”

As Eugene looks around him at the hundreds of soldiers crawling over the side of the ship he’s struck with the realization that a good number of the people around him will never touch hard ground again. He wonders how many of them will die. He wonders how many he’ll be able to save or how many will die under his hands. He clenches his fists around the straps of his pack. 

When his turn comes he grips the cold, wet twine of the net and swings himself over the side. The rope is coarse against his hands making him feel more secure in his hold on it. He doesn’t look down, just stares at the metal side of the ship as he puts one foot after the other until he’s at the bottom and then in the boat.

He takes his place on the boat, crouched low. Burgie and De L’Eau are in front of him, Leyden and Oswalt at his side. Snafu comes to crouch on his left side, just a little behind him. He shakes a cigarette out of his pack and offers it to Eugene with a gentle nudge to his arm. Startled, Eugene turns to look at him. His eyes look enormous in his face and are shadowed by deep rings that make them look even larger. Eugene, ashen and terrified himself, shakes his head.

“You know I don’t smoke.” 

A slow smile spreads across Snafu’s face like molasses. “Yeah?” His voice sounds condescending and if Eugene weren’t about to pass out from fear he’d tell Snafu to go to hell. 

As the boat is rocked back and forth by the water, Snafu leans in front of him and empties the contents of his stomach onto the deck of the boat as Eugene watches in faint horror and disbelief. He notes with vague disgust that some of it splashes onto his boots. When he’s done, Snafu takes the cigarette he’d offered to Eugene between his lips and lights it as though he hadn’t just vomited. He’s not the only one, either. The seasickness so many fell victim to on the LCI is even more of a plague on the Higgins Boat. Men either vomit where they stand or lean over the side to do it into the water. 

Burgie glances over his shoulder and meets Eugene’s eyes before he turns back around. He looks pale too and Eugene realizes with a jolt that Burgie is just as afraid as he is himself. All of the veterans are. The thought strikes him that maybe Snafu isn’t seasick after all, but maybe he’s just terrified. He isn’t sure whether it’s a relief or whether it just makes everything worse.

The boat starts to move forward and Eugene feels the urge to cry like a baby seize hold of him. A lump of anguish and panic lodges itself in his throat until he’s not sure he can draw a full breath. Despite his fear, Eugene feels a grim determination settle in his gut. He’s spent months and months training for a job and now is finally his chance to put that training to good use. No more agonizing waiting on a bobbing ship or wondering when his war will start. 

De L’Eau cradles his rifle against his chest, his eyes screwed shut so tight that Eugene’s sure he must be seeing stars. He looks even younger now than he does normally. Burgie’s mouth is set in a line so grim Eugene can’t seem to conjure up the image of him ever smiling. Snafu has his arms wrapped around himself and is gently rocking himself forward and back.

Suddenly hellfire erupts from the battleship behind them. Shells the size of horses hurtle toward the beach and Eugene hits the deck before his mind can even catch up to what’s happening. As he cowers on the stinking floor of the boat he sticks his fingers in his ears then checks to see if they’re bleeding. The noise is so immense that Eugene feels his bones rattling in his body.

Not one, but all of the battleships begin to fire toward the already-smoking line of the beach. Planes have been bombing the hell out of the Germans for some time now and Eugene isn’t sure there will be any of them left to fight after the shelling is done. 

Another bombardment begins. “Holy SHIT!” he hears Snafu scream and he can’t hear himself to tell if he’s laughing or crying in response.

The ships just keep firing and firing until Eugene wants to scream for them to stop, but he also knows that once the shelling stops he’ll be expected to get across that beach. And sure enough, the barrage ends and the Higgins Boat starts to chug more determinedly forward. Hillbilly shouts “here we go boys!” just like they do in the films Eugene has seen back home and his stomach lurches. As they all crouch low, they’re soaked through by salty mist and large waves that pour water into the boat. Some soldiers are pouring the water back out with their helmets until Ack-Ack tells them to put their goddamn helmets back on. 

Eugene stands a little taller in order to look over the heads of the others to see the beach. The far edges of the beach are bleeding black smoke and Eugene’s stomach settles a little. It looks like the Navy did their job and cleared some of the defenses to give infantry some space to get off the beach and move inland. But then as Eugene watches, another one of the boats stops and starts to lower its ramp. They’re definitely not in position and he knows that for a fact. They’re still yards away from the shoreline. The water past the sand bar is going to be deep and he knows most of the men have overpacked and are weighed down. The soldiers are going to have to swim from their current position to the beach and they’ll be like fish in a barrel as they do. But in the end it hardly matters. As soon as the ramp is lowered, machine gun fire sprays from beyond the beach and mows down almost every man in the boat. Those who escape the bullets climb over the sides and sink like stones in the water. After that, the Germans don’t hold back and the water and beach are flooded with machine gun fire, mortars, and shells.

It seems the Navy didn’t do the job after all. 

“Shit,” Eugene whispers to himself and he hears Snafu vomit again behind him. The incidences of seasickness in their little boat are increasing and misery lays over their boat like a blanket. Around them, more ships are failing to get their men to shore resulting in the water becoming littered with bodies. As the boat pushes forward through the water it pushes bodies aside, churning up the water until it’s more red than blue or gray. 

Ack-Ack makes his way to the back of the boat and starts to talk with the coxswain in charge. The roaring in Eugene’s ears is too loud for him to hear what they’re discussing, but the boat starts to turn slightly and make its way to a different part of the beach. Beside them another boat starts to do the same. As Eugene watches, it hits a mine in the water and blows. Bodies are sent into the air and then into the water. The few survivors inflate their life vests and start to paddle toward shore. Several of them are struck by bullets as they swim, and the water goes crimson around them. 

Eugene closes his eyes tightly. “Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy Name…” 

Ack-Ack retakes his place at the front of the boat next to Hillbilly and turns to face everyone. “Listen up!” He has to shout at the top of his voice to make himself heard. “We’re going over the sides! The ‘swain will bring us as close to shore as he can but we’ll have to swim a bit to get there. Empty your packs of everything that you don’t need and inflate your life vests as soon as you hit the water! Don’t bunch up together - spread out and make yourself less appealing as a target! Get as far up the beach as you can as fast as you can. I’ll meet you up there.”

“Oh, shit. I can’t swim,” moans a private who can’t be more than 17. He has an unlined face that still has vestiges of puppy fat lingering around his jaw. Hillbilly claps him on the shoulder.

“Just inflate your life vest and paddle like hell and you’ll get there, private.” 

The Higgins Boat comes to a halt and Ack-Ack straightens up a little more and faces the men. “Alright! Let’s go!” The soldiers on the edges of the deck put their hands on the sides to hoist themselves up and over. Snafu is one of them. 

Eugene grabs his wrist and looks at him with a panicked sort of desperation. “Don’t do anything stupid out there, Snaf.” Snafu nods back at him with his jaw clenched.

Eugene can’t watch as the men hit the water. He can hear bullets whiz by but it doesn’t sound like the machine guns have realized that this particular boat has changed its plans and the vast majority of the gunfire is distant. 

After a few moments, Hillbilly comes out of his crouch just a little bit and goes over to the side. “Next group, let’s go!”

Eugene puts his hands on the side of the boat, but his feet can’t find purchase on the wet metal. He feels someone give him a boost and turns to see Burgie gripping the back of his jacket to help him up. He nods at Burgie and gets one in return before he flips himself over the side. All he can feel then is cold water pressing in on him, seeping into his clothes, his boots, his helmet. He hastily inflates his life jacket and when he bobs to the surface he finally notices more bullets being shot into the water. He starts to swim toward shore as fast as he can, pushing aside bodies and ignoring how the water is red, red, red.

His feet hit sand underneath him and then he’s wading instead of swimming. He moves so much slower than he’d like. It’s damn near impossible to run in thigh-deep water and he’s still trying to keep himself low. The air around him gleams with tracers and he has an almost irresistible urge to just lay down in the surf and let what happens happen. But he can already hear screams of “medic” and “oh, God I’m hit” and “someone help me!” and he has a job to do. He keeps moving toward the edge of the water where the beach begins.

The beach isn’t made of the soft white sand that Eugene used to let pour through his fingers as a boy during vacations, but instead it’s composed of millions of round, smooth stones. They shift and lurch under each footstep making it impossible to gain enough traction to run with any real sense of balance or surety. For one moment when he slips and falls to his hands Eugene notices that most of them would be perfect for skipping. It’s an inane thought, but for one moment Eugene isn’t thinking about his mortality or the ever-growing number of dead around him and the reprieve gives him just a little extra strength.

In training the medics were always instructed to pull wounded to the rear to get them stabilized and eventually evacuated. But here, the rear is the Channel and there’s nowhere to go to but into the water. He’ll have to move them forward toward the front lines. 

The front lines are worse than he ever could have imagined. 

There are so many bodies strewn over the smooth stones of the beach that it seems impossible that anyone from the other boats has survived. Every time a wave crawls up onto land, it pushes another body along with it. Eugene feels a dull pulse of grief as he recognizes the baby-faced private from the boat among the dead. 

The Germans have the high ground, and they’re picking off soldiers like sitting ducks in the water and on the shore. Men are huddled behind the wave breaks and obstacles placed on the beach by the Germans. There are hundreds of enormous metal balls made of spikes and deeply entrenched posts of wood. Behind each of them, at least six soldiers shiver as they try to work up the courage to move across the open beach. Everyone is soaked to the skin and thoroughly miserable. Most of the soldiers are still bone-white from seasickness that hasn’t yet passed.

Eugene moves past the obstacles and further onto the stones. At first he feels somewhat shielded by the protection that his red cross offers, but this sense of safety is fleeting as a shell goes off nearby and knocks him to his feet. His ears ring as he gasps and writhes on the stones and tries to understand how he ended up on his back. He fights with his helmet’s buckle that’s fastened below his chin until he can pull it off, thinking somehow that he’ll be able to get more air without it. Something hot trickles down his cheek and he brushes it away with a weak hand. As he lays on the cold, wet rocks he takes store of himself. There’s no pain, he can wiggle all his fingers and toes, so he figures he’s well enough and needs to get a move on. He sits panting for a minute before he pulls the helmet back onto his head and pushes himself up onto sore and shaking legs. 

In training they’d shown the future medics pictures of casualties from the First World War to try and give them some kind of expectation of war wounds. Eugene had forced himself to look at the gunshot wounds, the broken faces, the burns and keep his stomach. The injuries he sees around himself now are nothing he’d ever thought he’d see. Even photographs wouldn’t be able to capture the extent of the horror. 

More than once Eugene treads on a limb without a body. Men have been shot in the jaw, in the neck, in the spine, in the gut, and all of them are screaming for a medic or water or their mothers. Many are beyond help. Eugene has the terrible task of determining which soldier has the best chance at survival to drag with him to the front. He finds a young man who has apparently caught a ricochet in his jaw. The bullet hasn’t shattered his face, but the wound is gruesome. His chin is painted in blood and the impact seems to have broken his jawbone. In a different life the injury might have turned Eugene’s stomach, but he doesn’t have the luxury of nausea anymore. If Eugene can get him moved forward and evacuated back to England he’ll probably make it and get to go home with his Million Dollar Wound. 

Months of training kick in at that moment. Eugene drops to his knees and opens his pack, finding a large bandage and some gauze. The soldier, a corporal, is unable to speak due to the trauma-induced swelling in and around his mouth so instead he whimpers at Eugene and clutches at him with desperate hands.

“Hey, corporal, how you doin’? You’re gonna be alright, I’m gonna get you right as rain.” He keeps his voice low and soothing as though he were trying to calm a spooked horse. If he can keep the corporal somewhat calm then his blood pressure might stay steady and he won’t bleed out before Eugene can fix him up. He sprinkles the wound liberally with sulfa powder and presses a bandage to his jaw, wrapping the gauze around the young man’s head to keep it in place and provide pressure. 

He needs someone else to help him move the soldier to the front. “Hey, you!” He calls out to a soldier who is standing dazed and completely still and Eugene thinks it’s a miracle he hasn’t been hit. But when the man turns to face him, Eugene sees that it’s Oswalt. His arm is being held on by flesh no thicker than a wrist, swinging grotesquely. Eugene tries to get to his feet, slipping and sliding on the stones as he tries to get to his friend. He waves his arm frantically, desperate to get Oswalt’s attention. “Jesus Christ. Get off the beach, Oswalt! Go toward the trees!” He tries to encourage his friend to get out of there and get away from the gunfire, but before Oswalt has even looked away a bullet catches him in the forehead and he falls like a stone to the ground. 

“Oh shit!!” Eugene flinches hard, falling back on his ass. He gapes with wide eyes at the body of his kind, smart friend. Robert Oswalt had wanted to be a brain surgeon. Now his brains are leaking out over this stupid French beach and Oswalt will never get to go home, see his mama one last time, or meet any of the tremendous potential he had. Heartsick, Eugene has to resist the urge to run over and grab him, try and get his body somewhere safe so it can be buried and his tags can be sent home to his mother. But he knows he has to get the wounded corporal off the beach. The living have to take priority over the dead. 

Realizing that he won’t get help moving this man, that the men around him are either terrified or wounded or dead, he rallies what strength he has and pulls himself to his feet. He goes to stand behind the man’s head and reaches down with blood-soaked hands to grab the collar of his uniform. He starts to tow him backward, slipping on the unsteady ground and falling on his ass again. 

As he drags the corporal he passes a man whose stomach looks turned inside out as he screams for his mama. His voice has the same terror as a rabbit that’s been caught by an owl or shot by a gun, and God, Eugene will never be able to hunt again. After a split second of thinking, Eugene gently drops the man he’s towing and rushes over to the dying one. He pulls out a syrette of morphine and pinches the skin on the suffering soldier’s collarbone, injecting the morphine there. In the shadow of some dim hope he pins the empty syrette onto the soldier’s jacket just in case a surgeon can evacuate and save him. “You’re safe now!” he calls over the din of war around him as he pushes the man’s dark hair off of his face, trying to lull the man into some sort of calm. “Go on to sleep, private!” He can see the drug take hold. The man relaxes and seems to detach himself from his pain and he finally stops looking at his ruined torso and lets his head fall back onto the ground. Once Eugene knows that his pain has lessened enough to give him some peace, he runs back to his other patient and resumes tugging him along.

Beyond the stones, there’s a small mound of sand covered by barbed wire. Men huddle along it, just exposed enough to make a tempting target for the Germans in their pillboxes up above. This is where he finds most of his company, and he could cry to see them there. Burgie has his arm around De L’Eau, and the two of them are huddled with their heads touching. Snafu is leaning up against the sea wall and firing his gun up the hill toward the Germans. Leyden turns and sees him first, reaching out to help Eugene haul the corporal in.

“Oswalt got hit!” he shouts with a breaking voice as he pulls his wounded cargo up against the sea wall. 

Leyden’s face crumples. “Fuck!” Eugene nods, turning back to his patient to make sure he’s stable. He’s shockingly still alive and still conscious and looking up at Eugene with desperate, terrified eyes. He turns to find who’s in charge and he could cry with happiness when he sees Ack-Ack. 

“Sir! I’ve got wounded that I need to get off the beach!” A regimental surgeon and a few extra medics run over to Eugene and his patient. The surgeon immediately takes over the man’s care and Eugene sags in relief, no matter how temporary it might be. He's done his duty for this one soldier.

“Working on it, Doc!” Ack-Ack is situated in front of a break in the barbed wire made with a bangalore torpedo and he sees Eugene army crawl back over from where he’d been scouting on the other side. 

“Ack-Ack, we can get up and off the beach to engage through that road there! There’s two Germans in that nest that need to get taken out first or we’ll be runnin’ right into fire.” Behind him is a seemingly impassable cliff rising toward the sky that is cut in two by a steep road lined with more barbed wire. At the top are cement bunkers that contain Lord only knows how many Germans. 

Ack-Ack turns to the regimental surgeon. “Get as many men off of the beach as you can. Pull them back here to the wall and triage 'em as best as you can. We’ll get up there and take those Germans out. Sledge, you’re coming with us. I want a medic up on the top of that ridge. Stay here until we give the signal.” 

Eugene nods, swallowing hard. He knows that he’ll do more good for his friends on top of that ridge than down here but he really wishes he had a gun in his hands alongside his bag of supplies. 

Bullets continue to rain down all around them as Ack-Ack turns to the men and tries to shout over the din of war. “We’re gonna move fast and we’re gonna clear that nest out so we can get ourselves on top of that ridge! Leyden, Gregory, Chase, you're all providing covering fire. Let’s go!” Eugene watches as Ack-Ack, Hillbilly, Snafu, Burgin and all the others scramble over the sea wall under the dubious protection of covering fire. A bullet hits the sand right by his left hand and he quickly ducks back against the wall as the sand sprays against his skin. His heart is beating fit to burst in his chest as he lays there gripping the straps of his bag, and he thinks maybe joining the Army with a heart murmur wasn’t such a good idea after all. 

Leyden rolls beside him and taps his chest. “C’mon, we’re all clear!” He and Eugene struggle to stand in the damp sand before they tear ass to the bottom of the path where Snafu is waiting for them. 

“Let’s go, we ain’t got all day!” He lets Leyden and Eugene run in front of him, firing a few shots up toward the top of the ridge to cover them before he takes off after them. About halfway up the road an explosion goes off somewhere behind Snafu, close enough that Eugene can feel the impact rattle his shin bones. He turns around and finds Snafu flat on his front and his troublesome heart stops as he half-runs half-slides back down to him. He glances over Snafu’s back and rolls him around to his front, relieved to see that Snafu is staring up at him like a deer in headlights. There’s no blood on him - a miracle - and Eugene grabs his sleeve.

“Get up, you’re fine!” He helps yank Snafu to his feet. Snafu seems stunned to be alive and whole and his limbs seem numb and only a little responsive. But he gets his feet underneath him after a moment and the two of them take off running up the path toward the top of the bluffs. 

The next bout of fighting is pure chaos and shockingly short. The armed men go from bunker to bunker and clear out the Germans in each one of them. Eugene darts from wounded man to wounded man as guns are shot, flames are thrown, and grenades explode all around him. He moves in a numb sort of auto-pilot where his sulfa powder and bandages are natural extensions of his arms. He doesn't focus on the horror of what's happening around him or what he sees, he just moves and becomes more soaked in blood with every passing moment. 

When the fighting’s finally done and the Germans on the bluff are either dead or prisoners, Eugene finds himself pressing his hands to a wound on a gurgling man’s neck trying to stem the blood that keeps bubbling up through his fingers. "Come on," he mutters. "Come on, hang in there." He doesn’t realize how quiet everything’s gotten until the man dies. He pulls in one last gasping, drowning breath before his muscles twitch one last time. The last thing the soldier sees is Eugene’s desperate face and the gray sky behind his head getting grayer every moment with smoke. Once his patient lies still Eugene pushes himself to standing and kicks a nearby German helmet. “Shit!” He buries his face in his hands before he remembers that his hands are dripping with blood. He frantically tries to wipe his face off on his sleeve and he can feel angry and helpless tears prick at the back of his eyes.

“Sledge.” Burgie comes up behind him and puts a hand on his shoulder, looking down at the dead private at their feet. He’s kind enough to pretend not to notice Eugene’s tears as he hands over his canteen so that Eugene can wash the blood off of his cheeks and hands. “You did everything you could.” And oh, how Eugene hates that phrase. He did everything he could, did his best but it clearly wasn’t good enough seeing as how the man lies dead at his feet. 

He hands Burgie’s canteen back without a word and moves away from his failure.

He goes to stand at the edge of one of the cliffs overlooking the beach. Eugene takes a moment to breathe and reorient himself to his surroundings and he observes the devastated landscape. He imagines the beach was pretty once with it’s colored rocks and steep green bluffs but now it has been reduced to a black, smoking wreck stained here and there with great splashes of red. He has a feeling this is going to be the norm throughout Europe - beautiful once, now ravaged by war. The wind off of the channel blows misty and cool and when Eugene takes a deep breath in through his mouth he can taste the salt. Concrete bunkers stained with soot stand empty but remarkably undamaged along the edge of the cliff and Eugene can’t believe how pathetic they look now when just hours ago they had been so deadly and imposing. Lines and lines of soldiers are coming up the same path they did, and he can see down on the beach that enough of the obstacles on the waterfront have been destroyed that tanks can finally get through.

The cross on his arm isn’t the stark, pristine white it was that morning. It’s smeared with dirt and sand and ash, and Eugene thinks maybe he’s looking too much into it but it feels like some sort of metaphor. A metaphor for his soul, maybe. He wants to cut it off and stuff it deep in the bottom of his bag where he won’t have to look at it anymore. He wonders if that corporal he’d pulled off the beach made it. His mind continues to prod at thoughts and shy away when they bruise, shooting from topic to topic like a tennis ball.

The frantic ping-pong of his thoughts halts when he hears the crunch of boots coming up behind him. He looks over to see Snafu standing beside him, lighting a cigarette. Eugene holds his hand out for it and Snafu lets out a snort of laughter. “I told you, didn’t I? 'I don't smoke,'” he mocks in a relatively true but unflattering impression of Eugene. He lights the cigarette with his own mouth and passes it to Eugene before lighting another for himself. “ There's no shame in it, Sledgehammer. Sometimes it’s the only thing that keeps your hands from shakin’.”

Eugene’s never smoked before; he’s never even tried it in some rebellious phase in his youth. His mother wouldn't abide the smell and his father favored a tobacco pipe instead. As he pulls a breath in, he’s surprised by how much it burns down his throat before settling hot in his lungs. He coughs the smoke back out, his mouth full of a taste that’s not as unpleasant as he’d have thought. Snafu laughs at him in the warm, unkind way that Eugene has come to associate with him. “You a virgin at this too?”

As Snafu laughs Eugene ignores him and takes the opportunity to look him over and reassure himself that he’s alright. He’s got a small cut on his cheek that isn’t even bleeding anymore, he’s holding his right hand oddly as though he’s trying to keep his wrist from bending, and he’s filthy and half-dry, but he’s whole and that means the world to Eugene. “You ain’t hurt?” he asks just to confirm his observation. 

Snafu’s laughter settles at Eugene’s question and there’s something warm and understanding in his eyes. “Nah, nothin’ bad. Twisted my wrist when I fell, but that’s about it. Got lucky.” He glances at Eugene and he must see lasting worry or concern there because he continues. “Burgie got nicked in the shoulder but it already stopped bleedin’ so he’s fine. De L’Eau is shaken up but alright. He swallowed some water when he went over but he puked a few times and is right as rain now. You saw Leyden for yourself. We’re all fine, Sledgehammer. Don’t know how, but we are. You alright?” 

Eugene himself has made it through D-Day with nothing but a scratch on his cheekbone and a hollow feeling deep in his soul that he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to carve out. He's not sure he has the words to explain the feeling behind his ribs to Snafu. He doesn't know that he'll ever have those words. He does an odd gesture between a shrug and a nod. "Yeah, I'm swell."

They stand in exhausted silence beside each other for a few long moments before Eugene turns to watch Snafu's profile as he smokes. “What happens now?”

“Guess we kill some Nazis.” Snafu tosses the butt of his cigarette down to the beach below before he turns and walks away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for reading! Hope you enjoyed.
> 
> I heavily referenced Stephen Ambrose's D-Day for information and data about D-Day. 
> 
> The chapter title comes from Nazca's For the Braves.


	3. Just You and the Moon on My Skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How about you, Doc?” 
> 
> Eugene takes a minute to figure out the truth of how he’s actually feeling.“I’m scared, sir.” 
> 
> “I imagine we’re all scared right now, even those of us who’ve done this before. Being scared is perfectly normal. But it helps me to remember why we’re here. We’re here because it’s the right thing to do. We’re here to fight against injustice and cruelty and the worst of mankind.”

A week after D-Day finds Eugene standing knee-deep in a hole in Normandy with his helmet off and a shovel in his weary hands. There’s blood deep under his nails and he’s had to fix up so many people between D-Day and now that he couldn’t begin to guess who the blood once belonged to. He feels like there’s red in every ridge of his knuckles and it doesn’t seem to fade no matter how hard he tries to wash it off. He wonders if it’ll be there forever. Will he always look at his hands and see blood?

Taking the town of Carentan alongside the 101st Airborne had technically been a success but it was hard to celebrate from the aid station. The surgeon had set himself up in one of the old stone buildings that Eugene thinks was probably a store once on account of the big empty frames at the front of the building that have had the glass blown out of them. As a field medic it falls to Eugene to provide immediate aid to the wounded in order to get them back to the surgeon before it's too late. 

When the cry for “medic” comes, Eugene is surprised he can hear it over the bombs and the shells and the gunfire. Despite the fact that the soldiers are hunkered down behind walls and buildings to shelter themselves from the onslaught, Eugene runs into the street to find the wounded man. He gives himself credit for the fact that he doesn’t freeze or hesitate even when he finds that it’s Lucky Lopez and his intestines are exposed and laying partially on the cobblestones beside him. He and another soldier - Boltwood, the man who called for help - pick Lucky up and rush him to the surgeon as bullets whiz by and pit the sidewalk by their feet. 

As soon as they make it to the aid station the surgeon comes over, already blood-soaked and frazzled. He recruits Eugene with a barking order and the next thing Eugene knows he’s wrist deep in Lucky’s abdominal cavity trying to hold his intestines in place while the surgeon tries to do something, anything to save him. Eugene is glad he had the foresight to remove his signet ring and keep it around his neck as he looks at his fingers curled around Lucky's guts. 

Eugene's hunted and fished for most of his life. He's helped clean fish and dress deer more times than he can count. But he's never felt insides warm and twitching with life still in them and he's certainly never had a person cut up in front of him like this.

Lucky doesn’t make it, and Eugene won't ever forget what it felt to have his hands inside another person. He watches them cover Lucky with a sheet and he goes outside to light himself a cigarette. By the time Lucky is dead Carentan has been successfully taken and Eugene has the freedom to smoke cigarette after cigarette. He's sitting on the sidewalk against the wall of the aid station.

He only half-notices a pair of boots stop in front of him. He looks up to see Ack-Ack's concerned face with Hillbilly a step behind him on his six like he always is. He doesn't give Eugene the opportunity to salute. "You alright Sledge?"

"Lucky's dead." Eugene slowly pushes himself to standing. 

"We know," Hillbilly says softly. 

Eugene's face must be doing something that he doesn't realize because Ack-Ack gives him a grieving look and grips his shoulder tightly. He leans down to look Eugene directly in the eye and it makes Eugene feel small and young. "You can't dwell on it, Eugene. Any of it." He pats Eugene's shoulder and gives him a solemn nod before he and Hillbilly move on. 

Eugene doesn’t want to let him down, but he can’t help but dwell on every single person whose blood he’s had on him since June 6th. 

He comes back to himself in the present moment when Snafu hops down into the hole with him, shovel in hand. It startles Eugene out of his Carentan daydreams and he blinks over at Snafu like a deer caught in headlights.

“Guess I’m your foxhole buddy, Sledgehammer. Lucky you.” He starts to dig as Eugene blinks slowly a few times to try and clear the fog out of his brain. “You gonna make me do all the diggin’ myself?”

“No. Sorry. I was a million miles away.” He starts to dig again and after a moment or two he glances up to find Snafu watching him. “Now I gotta dig it by myself?”

“You alright, Eugene?” Snafu’s voice is cautious and pitched low. He so rarely calls Eugene by his Christian name that he’s taken aback. He figures he must look pretty bad if even Snafu can tell there’s something wrong with him. There’s a furrow between Snafu’s eyebrows that Eugene can’t remember if he’s seen before or not and he wants to press his thumb to it until it smooths out.

Eugene sighs and sits heavily in the dirt, letting the shovel fall from his hands. It’s beautiful soil, rich and dark and Eugene thinks of the life it’s likely made before they started putting all this death in it. He doesn’t know if it’ll ever grow crops or livestock the same way as before. Maybe dead men make good fertilizer. “I’m tired, Snaf. I just want to sleep for a week and not think about blood or dyin' anymore.” 

Snafu sets his shovel aside as well and sits across from Eugene, landing in the dirt with a heavy ‘whump’. He pulls out his pack of cigarettes and puts two between his lips, lighting them both and then offering one to Eugene who takes it gratefully. They burn a little less going down now than they had at first and Eugene supposes it’s just a matter of practice. “We’re all tired,” Snafu says, resting his back against the side of the hole. “But we belong to the Army now and we don’t rest until they say we can. That means you too, boo.” 

It’s not comforting in the slightest but Eugene decides this is what he gets for going to Snafu for comfort. 

They’re about shoulder-deep into the earth when Ack-Ack and Hillbilly come by. Ack-Ack crouches down next to their hole and Hillbilly sits on the edge, his feet dangling in. He swings his long, long legs back and forth and it strikes Eugene as such a childlike thing to do. “How’re you boys doing?” Ack-Ack’s Massachusetts accent is quickly becoming equally as soothing and familiar as his father’s refined Alabama drawl. The two are more similar than he’d expected with their dropped “r”s and lazy jaws. 

“Doin’ alright, skipper,” Snafu replies, and there’s another comforting accent. Snafu’s is about as lazy a mouth as Eugene can imagine. His Louisiana drawl is like a raindrop making its way down a windowpane all slow and steady. 

“How about you, Doc?” 

Eugene takes a minute to figure out the truth of how he’s actually feeling. Ack-Ack and Hillbilly wait patiently, seeming to understand his struggle. “I’m scared, sir.” 

Ack-Ack hums before looking over at Hillbilly. They exchange a look that Eugene isn't sure the meaning of. It shows a sort of intimacy and familiarity between them that Eugene feels jealous of but can't fully explain. Ack-Ack turns back to him with a soft smile. “I imagine we’re all scared right now, even those of us who’ve done this before.” 

Hillbilly nods and takes off his helmet, running a hand over his curly hair. "I been in it since 1941 and I'm still scared every time I fight." 

“Being scared is perfectly normal. But it helps me to remember why we’re here. We’re here because it’s the right thing to do. We’re here to fight against injustice and cruelty and the worst of mankind.” Ack-Ack puts his hand on Eugene’s shoulder up where it meets his neck, and he squeezes and gently shakes Eugene. It’s something his dad or brother would do and it makes his stomach ache. He smiles weakly. 

Hillbilly stands and puts his helmet back on with a crooked little smile. “You been doin' good. You'll be alright. Get some rest boys.” Ack-Ack smiles and stands as well, following Hillbilly to the next set of soldiers.

Eugene and Snafu finish digging their foxhole and settle in for the night. Their hole is set a little back from the front line and Burgie has given them both permission to sleep for a few hours at the same time, a gift that Eugene knows they’re both very grateful for. 

Eugene closes his eyes and when he opens them next he’s standing in the aid station in Carentan. He can’t quite remember how he got here but he doesn’t have time to dwell on it. The station is full of frantic medics who move so fast he can’t get a good look at anyone’s face. He feels the weight of something heavy in his palm and furrows his brow as he raises his hand and finds a bloody, still-beating heart in his grasp. He drops it in shock and it lands on the cold stone floor with a sickening splat before rolling into a shadow where Eugene can no longer see it. 

The surgeon comes running up to him, screaming in his face. He’s close enough that Eugene can feel his spit land on his cheeks and he winces back. “What the hell do you think you’re doing Sledge? You just killed that man!” He points back to the table and Eugene sees Snafu, chest cracked open and pouring blood like a waterfall onto the table with his eyes staring lifelessly at the ceiling. He suddenly sits up and looks right at Eugene with dead, milky eyes and Eugene screams and screams and screams. 

He lurches forward in the dark with a whimper still in his throat. His cheeks are drenched and streaming with tears and he flinches hard when he feels someone reach out and touch his shoulder. Finally he realizes where he is. He’s in a hole in a hedgerow in Normandy, not the stone wreckage of a town. He buries his face in his knees so he doesn’t have to look at Snafu and see the pity or contempt that he’s sure is there.

Snafu doesn’t ask but Eugene can’t help but to tell him anyway. He has to get the words out to try and alleviate some of the sickness festering in his chest. “I killed you.” His voice is hollow and breaking from the horror of his dream. After a moment of hesitation Snafu scoots in closer to him and wraps his arm around Eugene’s shoulders. Eugene appreciates the comforting contact enormously. “I had your heart in my hands and I dropped it and you died.”

“Hey,” Snafu’s voice isn’t gentle, but it’s firm and quiet. “I ain’t dead. You didn’t kill me. I’m right here.” He rubs Eugene’s arm until he starts to feel like a human again. Eugene listens carefully to the other foxholes as he starts to calm down to make sure no one else has heard his carrying-on. It doesn’t seem like he’s made enough noise to disturb anyone around him. 

“Jesus.” Eugene wipes his tear-soaked face on his sleeves, shaking his head to try and dislodge the final stubborn images of his nightmare. “Sorry.” He clears his throat, trying to tamp down the feeling of shame that's boiling hot in his belly. He glances sideways and finds Snafu looking at him curiously. He feels a hot blush spread across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. “What?”

“You really that upset about me bein’ dead?” The disbelief in Snafu’s voice makes Eugene ache behind his ribs like something in there is expanding and trying to burst through. 

“‘Course I was.” Eugene’s voice is even softer now but they’re close enough that the volume doesn't really matter. “You’re important to me, Snaf.”

He sees some sort of struggle painted in the confused lines on Snafu’s forehead, in the downturn of his mouth. It seems like there’s something Snafu is trying to say but he’s clearly warring with himself. 

Eugene doesn’t have much experience with this sort of thing but he’s pretty sure he’s reading the signs right. He takes one deep breath, then two.

Then he leans forward and presses his mouth to Snafu’s in the deep dark earth in the deep dark night in France.

There’s stillness for a moment and Eugene starts to worry that maybe he’d misread the situation after all. But before his worry can spiral down into terror or humiliation Snafu presses back into the kiss and curls his arm more tightly around Eugene’s shoulders. 

The kiss is long but chaste as are the others that follow. Neither of them have the energy for deep, passionate kisses or for anything remotely beyond that. Not to mention the fact that there is a startling (though not surprising) lack of privacy in a foxhole just behind the front line. But the comfort the kisses bring is invaluable to Eugene in this moment and by the time they pull away he feels like he can breathe for the first time since June 4th. 

They sit silently for some time just reveling in each other’s company. Snafu lights another cigarette and passes it to Eugene before lighting one for himself as well. Eugene knows he’ll have to get his own pack sometime soon and stop stealing Snafu's. 

Eventually Snafu turns to look at him and his face turns fond when Eugene lets his head lean back onto Snafu’s arm as he turns to meet his gaze. “You done that before?”

“What, kiss? I told you I have.”

Snafu snorts. “No, with a man.”

Eugene hums as he feels his whole face blush red hot. “No. I wanted to once I guess. I was… God, I must have been thirteen. He was older, probably a senior in high school I guess. I swear, everyone in Mobile was half in love with him. He was tall and handsome, all blonde and blue-eyed. He was a swimmer so he had the… You know - the shoulders.” Eugene makes a vague outline of an upside-down triangle figure then he laughs a little. “He got married right out of high school and has a few kids now.” Snafu nudges his temple with his nose and Eugene smiles, feeling the warmth of that gesture all the way down to his toes. “What about you? You kissed a boy before?”

“A few,” he says shortly in a tone of voice that implies he’s kissed more than a few boys in his time. Eugene isn’t exactly surprised. Snafu has made his interest in Eugene clear without putting it out there blatantly enough to cause himself trouble if Eugene took offense. That seems almost like an art form. He seems apprehensive about Eugene’s reaction so Eugene just smiles. 

“Hallelujah. At least one of us knows what he’s doin’ then.” Eugene can feel Snafu smile against his hair. 

  


* * *

  


Once Carentan is secured and firmly in the hands of the Allies, Eugene and the rest of his guys get sent back to England for some rest and relaxation. This trip across the channel is much less fraught with terror than their last although there’s still a good amount of seasickness. They go back to the town they’d been stationed in initially and Eugene is surprised at how much it feels like coming home. 

There’s more privacy in England too. After that first foxhole kiss, Eugene can’t seem to get enough of Snafu. The two of them sneak off every chance they can get and find some little corner to stow away in. It isn’t terribly often, truly, but what they lack in time they make up for in enthusiasm. He learns what it feels like to be really kissed like one of those girls in the films they show all the time to keep the men busy. He can almost understand how they always seem to fall over after they get kissed real good like their legs can’t hold their weight anymore.

They get to go a bit farther than kissing too, though not too far. Snafu seems to think that Eugene needs to be cosseted and wooed like some Southern Belle when all Eugene really wants is to get Snafu’s pants off. Despite Eugene’s eagerness they don’t get any further than heavy petting. Even still, Eugene gets to experience getting off with something besides his own hand and Snafu seems to enjoy the fact that he’s Eugene’s first… everything.

Eugene finds his wanting of Snafu to be terribly inconvenient. Snafu drives him to distraction and he acts like he knows it. He smirks almost all the time if Eugene’s around and he’ll drop little touches to Eugene’s waist or his arm or the dip in his back right before his ass starts. Eugene’s not sure how obvious they’re being but if the other guys notice they don’t say anything. Maybe it’s too much to hope for but they don’t seem to mind much either. Sometimes he’ll catch Jay De L’Eau rolling his eyes or Burgie smothering a chuckle when he or Snafu come up with another excuse to separate themselves from the others but no one accuses them of anything or confronts them. Eugene can’t remember the last time he’s been so happy.

At least, that is until they tell him he’s going to have to learn to jump out of an airplane.

Eugene knows that his Division is partnered with the 101st Airborne but it never occurred to him that he’d actually have to jump out of a plane. Bill seems equally as shaken as he feels but those who fought in North Africa or Italy hardly blink at the news. 

“We were trained for this before we even left for Africa,” Burgie says with a shrug. “Not our first time jumping out of planes.”

The same can’t be said for Eugene. He isn’t sure if the Army was so focused on the Normandy beach landing that they never thought to train Eugene and the others or if they didn’t think he’d need to be trained as a paratrooper but he’s never even been in a plane let alone jumped out of one. 

He joins his Division for marching and for practicing parachuting on the ground but for the most part his life in England is pretty dull. After the hateful excitement of trying to keep dying men stabilized in war the endless sorting and counting of supplies and healing of minor ailments seems more boring than Eugene has ever expected and he’s deeply grateful for it.

After a long day of putting bandages on cuts and, excitingly, splinting one leg after some idiot decides to pick a fight with a tree while on a motorcycle, Eugene is heading back to his bunk for some well-earned rest. He’s looking down into his bag to make triple sure he restocked on bandages and paying very little attention to the world around him.

“Pardon me,” a voice says from behind him and before Eugene can turn around the person has him in a firm headlock. “I’m looking for Eugene Sledge. He’s a scrawny little thing, red hair. Help a fella out?”

Eugene knows that voice. He’s heard it from the day he was born. He’s heard it high pitched with youth, breaking with puberty, in joy and in anger and mostly in irritation. “Aw hell, Eddie. C’mon, let me go.” He squirms in his brother’s grip, praying that no one who knows him will walk by and see him being strangled by some strange lieutenant. 

He lands a weak punch to Eddie’s gut and is finally set free. He stands and straightens his hair then scowls at Eddie as he immediately ruffles it into disorder again. 

Despite his irritation at their greeting Eugene has missed his brother something fierce since he graduated school and joined the army in 1941. They’ve seen each other only once since then and only for a short time before Eddie shipped out to Europe. Eddie is standing tall and proud in his well-kept uniform. His hair is neat and short - a lighter, less red shade than Eugene’s own. His eyes are shining with smug amusement that Eugene recognizes from all the other times his brother’s picked on him and there’s a wide smile on his face. Eugene takes in the fine features of his face and he knows that Eddie’s always been the better-looking of the Sledge boys. He’s always sensed that Eddie knows it too judging by how frankly impossible he was during his high school years and the way he used to pick on the size of Eugene’s nose and ears. 

Eddie’s looking back at him just as keenly and when Eugene goes to salute him (considering he is a lieutenant and all and there's protocol to be followed) Eddie reaches out and pulls him into a strong hug instead. “Damn it’s good to see you, Genie.”

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Eugene hugs him back just as tightly. “Yeah, I missed you too.”

They were never particularly friendly growing up in Eugene’s estimation. The three years between them had always seemed to stretch on until it was almost impassable. At best Eugene was the tag-along little brother whose presence was forced on Eddie when he went to the movies or out with friends. Eddie was an athlete, strong and proud and popular with the girls. Eugene was shy, frequently sick, and preferred to spend his time alone or with a select few friends than go to parties. They didn’t have friends in common nor did they have many similar interests. But now that they’ve grown Eugene appreciates the fact that he has a brother immensely and can look back at all of the ways his brother has shown him kindness during his life. It was his brother who taught him to swim, to throw a ball, and how to fish. Their father was often bogged down with work and so Eddie would step in to take on a fatherly role and keep watch over his baby brother. 

Eugene clears his throat and they both take a minute to compose themselves. Eugene finds his voice first and shakes his head in disbelief. “What are you doing here?” It’s the middle of a war after all. Most people don’t get to flit from place to place at will. 

“I got a week pass and asked where your regiment was stationed. I figured I’d stop here on my way to London.” He reaches out and gently tugs on the red cross armband Eugene’s got on. “Suits you, Genie. Father’ll be proud of you.”

Eugene flushes. “I don’t know about that. I don’t think I’m cut out for all this.”

Eddie laughs. “Poor Mother. Two sons and neither a doctor, what a disappointment we must be.” His face grows a little more serious. “You need to write her. She’s near frantic thinkin’ you’re dead or hurt. Every letter I get is: ‘have you heard from Eugene?’ ‘Do you know where Eugene’s stationed?’ ‘Make sure you ask after Eugene.” His voice is pitched high in an unflattering although not altogether inaccurate impression of their mother.

Eugene sighs at being reprimanded and rubs his eyes tiredly. “I got nothin’ to say that she’d want to hear. I spend my days popping blisters and helping guys who caught something from the local girls or else I’m elbow deep in blood. Either that or we’re just waiting for something to happen.”

“She wants to hear it. Well, except maybe that part about what the boys have caught. You’re her baby boy.” Eddie reaches out and goes to pinch Eugene’s cheeks before Eugene slaps his hand away with a hissed ‘cut it out’. Eddie laughs loudly and seems to spot something over Eugene’s shoulder. His laughter fades into an amused smirk and he crosses his arms. “Friend of yours?”

Eugene looks over his shoulder to see Snafu leaning against Jeep with a sour expression on his face. It’s a look that most people associate with Snafu but Eugene doesn’t often see it, especially not directed at him and especially not recently. He furrows his brow and waves his hand to invite Snafu over. Snafu seems like he’s going to ignore him and continue lurking until Eugene rolls his eyes to the high heavens. “Snafu, get over here!” He hears his brother mutter ‘Snafu?’ behind him. 

He can almost feel the irritated breath that Snafu lets out as he pushes himself off of the Jeep and slinks over. There’s an aggressive set to his shoulders and something angry and guarded in his eyes and Eugene is definitely confused. Snafu steps up and looks Eddie over in a way that is definitely not as reverent as it should be when meeting an officer. When he's done giving Eddie the once-over he gives a lazy salute. “Sir.”

“Corporal,” Eddie nods, giving a proper salute back. There’s still amusement in the shape of his mouth. 

“Eddie, this is my buddy Merriell Shelton. Snaf, this is my brother Lieutenant Edward Sledge.” He watches as realization dawns on Snafu and he grimaces, and Eugene makes a realization of his own. ‘He was jealous,’ Eugene thinks with a delighted little shiver going down his spine. He can’t wait to have a conversation about this later.

Eddie stays for a few more hours during which Eugene is pleased to see that Snafu actually behaves himself. Eddie eats dinner with Eugene and his pals and he’s just as charming and personable as he’s always been. Eugene used to be so envious of the ease with which his big brother interacts with people around him but now he’s glad for it. He doesn’t have to do much talking when Eddie’s around. 

After eating they decide to take a walk together to catch up. The air is crisp and cool with the hint of fall carried on it. It's too chilly to be warm by their Alabama standards but it's nevertheless a lovely, clear night. They both light cigarettes. Eddie nearly chokes when he sees Eugene light up. 

"Since when do you smoke?" There's surprise and reprimand in the tone of his voice.

Eugene takes a deep drag of his cigarette. "Since D-Day." Eddie doesn't have any arguments to that.

As they walk Eugene wants to talk to his brother about the things he’s seen and done. He wants to share his panic over the fact that he’s going to have to jump out of a damn airplane soon, but he can’t seem to find the words for any of it. He has such a short amount of time to spend with Eddie; he doesn’t want to taint it with his fear. 

When the time comes for Eddie to leave, Eugene is surprised by how strongly he doesn’t want to say goodbye. He’s all too aware of the fact that this could be the last time he sees Eddie and the thought makes his stomach churn and ache. He walks Eddie to the edge of the town where he has a jeep waiting to drive him to London. He looks up and tries to commit each of his brother’s features to memory. Eddie reaches out and pulls him into a hug that lasts longer than any Eugene can remember them sharing in the past. 

“Don’t do nothin’ stupid out there, Eddie.” Eugene’s voice is choked. 

Eddie pulls away and smiles at him comfortingly but there's tension in the corners of his eyes. “I won’t. You be careful out there, too, you hear? We’ll see each other soon.”

They salute each other and then Eddie climbs into his jeep and is gone.

The walk back to the cottage is long enough for Eugene to clear his head. Every time he draws a cool, fresh breath into his lungs he feels a little more grounded and a little less like he’ll spiral into the “what ifs” and “maybes” of war. 

He finds Snafu smoking up against the wall of the cottage and when he tilts his head in an invitation to follow Eugene is helpless to obey. At the far edge of town by the woods there’s a run down old building that not even the army wants to use. It’s an old stone hut with no roof and one window built in but it has an enormous wooden door that actually closes so Eugene and Snafu have claimed it for their own purposes. They found this place shortly after their return to England and it’s become the place they go when they need some privacy. There's a bath of loose gravel leading up to the cottage that will make enough noise to warn them if anyone walks on it and it's far enough away from the other buildings that they don't have to worry if they end up making a little bit of noise.

Snafu opens the door to the hut and flicks away his cigarette. Eugene watches the red-orange end arc into the air and settle on the grass where it slowly fades. Snafu stands aside to let him in first and Eugene turns around to observe him as he shuts the door and bolts it. 

“Your brother head out?” Snafu's voice is conversational and casual.

“I don’t really wanna talk about Eddie right now.” Eugene closes the small gap between them and walks forward until he’s got Snafu’s back up against the door. He’s got his hands up over Snafu’s shoulders and his palms placed flat against the cool, rough stone. Snafu looks surprised for a fraction of a second before he grins and puts his cold hands on Eugene’s waist, leaning in to put their lips together. Eugene lets himself be led into a deeper kiss, but right as Snafu goes to untuck his shirt from his trousers Eugene pulls back. “You were jealous.”

Snafu narrows his eyes. “Jealous? When?” He’s a pretty good liar most of the time but Eugene has learned to tell when he’s bullshitting. 

“When you first saw me and Eddie talking. You looked like you’d sucked on a lemon.” Eugene is grinning and he knows that he looks as smug as a cat that got the canary but he really has very little control over his expression right now. “You saw me talking to some good-looking louie and you got nervous.” 

“Maybe I was just thinkin’ I had the wrong Sledge in my bunk.” He laughs when Eugene grabs a handful of curls at the base of his skull and pulls hard enough to hurt but not too much that Snafu tells him to stop. His head falls back against the wall and Eugene can’t help but lean forward to put his mouth against the column of his throat. When Snafu hums he can feel the rumble against his lips and he slides his hands down Snafu’s arms to tuck his fingers into the cuffs of his sleeves. 

“Just admit that you were jealous.” He drags his mouth up to Snafu’s jaw and presses firm kisses there. He moves up and takes Snafu’s earlobe between his teeth before he whispers, “Admit it.” He can feel goosebumps break out over Snafu’s arms. Suddenly Snafu twists in his arms and slams Eugene’s back against the door instead. Eugene hisses as his head bumps against the thick wood but his complaint dies in his throat when he sees the look in Snafu’s eyes.

“I don’t like sharin’ what’s mine.” His eyes are shining like gunmetal and Eugene feels heat start to unfurl low in his belly. He likes the thought of belonging to Snafu. He likes that Snafu thinks of him as his and wants to keep him and doesn't want to share. He pulls Snafu in for another searing kiss and chases his mouth when he pulls away. 

It isn’t something he expected, finding someone like this in the middle of a war. Not many people can leave home to fight and find someone who makes them feel like they’re still at home. He thinks he must be the luckiest guy in the whole US Army. Then Snafu sinks down to his knees and he has a moment to think that he's the luckiest guy in the WORLD before he stops thinking of anything much at all. 

  


* * *

  


The day when Eugene has to jump from a flying airplane and prove his mettle comes sooner than he would have liked. He’s sitting in between Burgie and Snafu in a deafening metal tube hurtling through the air. He has his jaw clenched tightly and his teeth rattle against each other as the plane shudders and rattles around them. There's airsickness roiling in his belly and up into his throat and he takes some grim comfort in the fact that many of the others seem to be similarly affected if the pale faces around him are anything to go on. 

It helps that the men who have jumped before don’t seem concerned at all about their current situation. Their confidence helps Eugene accept that this is how loud and shaky the plane is actually supposed to be, that they're not going to drop from the sky at any moment. He supposes their calm makes sense. There’s no anti-aircraft gunfire, no enemy waiting for them on the ground, no unforeseen difficulties or obstacles for them to worry about. It’s just a hop out of a door and a gentle drifting back to Earth. 

The red light beside the door goes on and Ack-Ack motions for everyone to stand and hook up. His lips move but Eugene can’t even hope to hear what he’s saying from halfway down the plane. He has to put his faith in the soldiers in front of him. He stands and clips himself to the rope running along the ceiling. He can feel the rumble of the plane through his boots and it rattles up his leg bones all the way up into his chest. Hillbilly stands in front of Ack-Ack and faces the men. He puts his hand behind his ear as though he’s listening and Eugene knows they’re sounding off. He feels Burgie make sure his pack is secure and everything looks good and he hears him shout “FIVE OKAY” before he does the same for Snafu, shouting “FOUR OKAY!” 

Hillbilly steps up to the door and Eugene has never been so sure he’s going to vomit in his whole life until Burgie grips his shoulder with a firm, steadying hand. One by one he watches his friends throw themselves out of a perfectly good airplane and then it’s his turn. He stands in the door of the plane and tries his damndest to look straight out into the blue sky and not down to the ground 1,000 feet below. Ack-Ack shouts “go, go!” into his ear. 

Eugene takes one deep, strong breath and jumps.

He holds his body tight and tense, his legs together and his arms against his chest. The first few moments are a terrifying free-fall as he watches the green fields of England rush closer. Just as he starts to wonder whether or not his parachute should have opened by now, there’s a jerk as the wind catches the silk and slows his descent. And then everything is extraordinarily peaceful.

Eugene looks up and sees the billowy white fabric and he’s suddenly immensely thankful for whoever figured out the hard way what kind of fabric could stop a man’s plummet down to Earth. He can’t hear anything but his own breathing and the pounding of his heart in his ears. It takes him a moment to realize that he’s grinning in elation at the fact that he’s done it. He jumped out of an airplane and he’s going to live to write home to his mother about it.

From this high, the colors of the grass below are ones he swears he’s never seen. Some fields are a deep emerald, but some are so bright they almost seem unreal. He looks away from the ground and sees other soldiers drifting mellowly to the ground like soft, slow-moving jellyfish. 

As he gets closer to the ground he wraps his hands around the risers to gain some control and relaxes his body. He keeps his legs out of the way and lands on his ass hard enough to make him grunt on impact but not so hard that he’ll bruise. He’s carried a small distance by the parachute as it wrestles with the wind, but he gets to his feet and gets the canopy folded enough to keep it from dragging him back to France. Panting, he holds the parachute against his chest and lets out a whoop of joy and relief that no one else is close enough to hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyy, 22 pages in and they finally kiss. Despite what I said in early chapters, I 100% made Shelton jump out of an airplane. I needed to get them into Holland and that's how it was done. As they say in the Marines: improvise, adapt, and overcome.
> 
> Chapter title is from Eavesdrop by The Civil Wars


	4. Wither and Bloom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eugene doesn’t have the energy to be surprised when he learns that they’re headed for Holland instead of France or Germany. People smarter than him and with more expertise must have decided that it makes sense for them to go there, so into occupied territory they fly.
> 
> Despite being told that the German force was weak in occupied Holland, they still put up one hell of a fight. The injuries that Eugene treats are mostly caused by either shell fragments or pieces of buildings acting as shrapnel or artillery. But they’re not any more gruesome or special than most of the other wounds he’s seen so far in the war and he isn’t affected in any real way.
> 
> That is, until Bill’s hit.

No one is thrilled when the announcement comes that they’re headed back to the continent, though no one is surprised. The time spent in England has been a much needed respite from gore and death but the war isn’t won yet. There'll be more fighting before they can rest for good. There’s plenty of talk about how the Germans are running low on ammo, supplies, and men but Eugene can’t help but feel that Hitler intends to fight to the last man. 

They’re briefed about their next mission in a large tent that smells of cigarettes and sweat like every other place a large number of soldiers gather. They’re seated behind the 101st Airborne as Operation Market Garden is explained. Eugene doesn’t have the energy to be surprised when he learns that they’re headed for Holland instead of France or Germany. People smarter than him and with more expertise must have decided that it makes sense for them to go there, so into occupied territory they fly. The dark-browed intelligence officer tells them “I don’t think they’re gonna call this one off,” and everyone’s mood sinks.

They’re dropped near a town called Eindhoven. Unlike the chaos of D-Day that saw paratroopers dropped every which way over France, everyone lands pretty much where they’re supposed to and there’s minimal resistance on the ground. The sky is so filled with parachutes that they almost look like strange-colored clouds drifting lazily toward the ground. It doesn’t take long for everyone to gather back together and Eugene shoots Snafu a relieved smile when he sees him.

They’re off and running toward their next destination before they even have time to catch their breath. When they reach the town of Eindhoven, Eugene is staggered by the response of the locals. He doesn’t think anyone’s ever been so glad to see a group of soldiers the whole world over. Everywhere he looks there are orange flags and people cheering. Women dart out into the streets to plant kisses on the GIs as they march past. 

“I fuckin’ love it here,” Bill says dreamily with smears of red lipstick across his face.

The crowd gets so thick that it’s impossible to keep moving forward despite the desperate urging of the NCOs and officers. Soldiers are dancing, kissing, taking pictures with the locals, eating food and drinking beer everywhere Eugene looks. One is even playing jump rope with a group of giggling little girls. He’s not bad at it, either. Another has a puppy in his arms and he looks so young and happy that Eugene thinks of the day his dog Deacon came home.

He watches as Bill predictably glues himself to a pretty redhead with a very large chest. She’s got to be half a foot taller than him but neither of them seem to mind overmuch. They stumble somewhere out of sight and the medic in Eugene can only hope he’s got a prophylactic kit with him. 

Burgie is looking terribly uncomfortable as two lovely middle-aged women with well-lined faces press kisses to each of his cheeks. Snafu almost pisses himself laughing. “Mind your hands Burgie, or I’ll have to write Florence.” Burgie’s face turns a very fetching shade of red as he clenches his teeth and fists. Eugene’s pretty sure he’d be saying some choice things to Snafu if they weren’t in mixed company.

Even De L'Eau has a pretty girl on his lap as she feeds him some sweet-looking pastry and gives him sips of beer. He looks completely smitten and as young as he is for the first time since Eugene’s known him. For the first time in a very long time it seems, the mood of the men is positively joyous. They’re in-country but there’s no guns firing, no bombs dropping, just happy civilians throwing a party because they’re so glad to see American faces. Eugene enjoyed himself immensely in England but his heart feels swollen with happiness now.

Even Eugene is grabbed and kissed on the mouth probably a half-dozen times by pretty young women he knows he should want. An old lady surprises Eugene by grabbing him by the arm and pulling him into a dance. Eugene stutters protests that he doesn’t know how but if she speaks English she doesn’t let on. She’s agile and sprightly and is certainly giving Eugene a run for his money as she starts to make him dance. He looks over her shoulder and sees Snafu hysterically laughing with a little girl in his arms. She’s got blonde pigtails that end in fat curls and Snafu points toward Eugene and says something to her that makes her giggle and wrap her skinny little arms around his neck. He’s so comfortable with her that for the first time Eugene can really picture him as a warm older brother with little sisters of his own. He has to admit to himself that it makes him feel warm inside, like a light bulb’s been turned on behind his rib cage. 

When it’s time for them to move on (many with great reluctance) none of them realize how different Eindhoven will look when the next day falls. That night, they’ll watch as bombs fall on Eindhoven like rain and the joy of the previous hours will turn sour in their mouths.

But before then there’s a skirmish outside Eindhoven in the town of Nuenen. The word skirmish always made Eugene think of small bursts of rifle fire but in the middle of machine gun fire and tanks battling one another the fighting doesn’t seem so insignificant. Despite being told that the German force was weak in occupied Holland they’re still managing to put up one hell of a fight. The injuries that Eugene treats are mostly caused by either shell fragments or pieces of buildings acting as shrapnel or artillery. But they’re not any more gruesome or special than most of the other wounds he’s seen so far in the war and he isn’t affected in any real way.

That is, until Bill’s hit.

K35 is trying to pull back out of Nuenen - their first retreat. For young boys and old men, the Germans in Holland are fighting with the same ferocity as they had in Normandy. Eugene’s just finished wrapping up a Private Lucien’s knee after he’d been shot. He stands as Lucien hobbles away with the help of a friend and Eugene turns on the ball of his foot and makes brief eye contact with Bill. Bill has his rifle up against his shoulder and he looks away to fire a shot into a nearby building when something rolls toward his feet. 

“GRENADE! Bill, get out of there!” Eugene is running for him before his brain has even caught up with his feet but it’s still too late. The grenade explodes and Eugene watches in horror as Bill is blown backwards and lands so hard on the ground that his helmet is knocked off of his head. Eugene lands hard next to him, gravel embedding in his knees as he slides, taking Bill’s shoulders in his hands as he writhes in pain on the ground. His face has been shredded by the shrapnel and covered in a fine dust from the dirt road. Blood is dripping from his cheeks and his mouth and his nose and it soaks Eugene’s hands. His eyes are screwed shut and Eugene is terrified of what’s hidden behind his eyelids. 

“Oh, fuck! I can’t see!” Bill goes to touch his face but Eugene grabs his wrists and pulls his hands away.

“Look at me. Bill, look at me. You’re alright.” He sounds more confident than he feels. His brain is spinning and he can’t quite figure out what he’s supposed to do next. He can’t seem to land on one particular thought. His mind is flitting between thoughts so fast he can’t remember what to do and his hands shake as they uselessly hold Bill’s wrists away from his face. 

“God damn it Eugene!” Burgie waves his arms and Eugene looks up at him in wide-eyed shock. “Get the hell out of there, god damn it!” And sure enough, the dirt around him is spitting up with bullets but he won’t leave Bill here. Not like this. 

“Eugene?” Bill’s calling out for him desperately. “Gene is that you? I can’t see!” A mortar goes off near to them and Eugene bends over Bill’s body to shield him from debris. 

“You’re alright, Bill. You’re okay.” 

As Eugene looks around him he sees Snafu snarling and holding a rifle up at a German who has his hands up. The Kraut is dirty and his face is unlined and he looks so painfully young. He hears the soldier say “nicht schiessen!” and watches as Snafu pulls the trigger and shoots the kid at the base of his throat. De L’Eau is pressed against the corner of a building and every so often he turns around it to shoot despite the bullets that fly around him whenever he does.

Bill grabs Eugene’s forearms and Eugene falls back heavily onto his ass, cradling Bill in his arms. Doc Stern, the other medic Eugene works with, runs up. “Gene, what the hell?” He immediately starts removing bandages from his bag. His actions seem to spur Eugene back into reality and he fumbles as he takes out some sulfa powder to sprinkle onto Bill’s wounds.

“You’re gonna be okay, Bill. We’ve got you.” He watches as Stern bandages Bill’s face. When he’s done Eugene gets himself under Bill’s left arm and Stern takes his right. Together they carry him back to a truck to get him evacuated. 

When Bill is safe in the truck Eugene staggers back a few steps until Doc Stern reaches out and takes his upper arm to steady him. “Eugene, what the hell was that back there?” 

Eugene just shakes his head because truthfully he doesn’t have an answer. All of his training had vanished as soon as one of his friends got hit and he can’t explain it. Doc Stern sighs and removes his round glasses, cleaning them off on his shirt. When he puts them back on they don’t look any cleaner than they had a minute ago.

“I don’t mean to stick my nose where it’s not my business but… hell Gene, maybe you’re just too close to Bill. It can be hard to patch up a guy when they’re your best buddy, you know?” It’s not the first time Eugene has heard this. The man who’d trained him back in the States had said something similar. 

“Get too close to the men and you won’t be able to help them,” he’d said. Eugene thinks about how he’d froze up when he’d seen Bill get hurt. He thinks he understands what that meant, now. 

Doc Stern reaches out and pats Eugene gently on the bicep. “Take it easy Eugene. Bill’s in good hands. He’ll be fine.” 

Eugene doesn’t talk to anyone as they set up a camp in a field on their side of the line. Some of the other guys are griping about having to retreat for the first time since they invaded Normandy. All Eugene can think about is the sheer emptiness of his mind as he stared down at Bill’s unseeing face. He’s treated all sorts of terrible wounds since he left England for the first time and he’s never once froze like he did today. His failure leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

He knows now that seeking camaraderie with the same men he’s supposed to save has been a mistake. He obviously can’t keep his shit together in the face of a wounded friend and healing is his primary purpose here. The other men kill because they know they have a job to do. Eugene doesn’t have a gun in his hands and over here healing is all he’s good for. If he can’t fix up a wounded friend then he shouldn’t be friends with them at all. 

The thought that it could have been Snafu who got hurt instead of Bill dogs his steps all day. The thought that he could have frozen over Snafu’s bleeding body and not been able to help makes him feel almost paralyzed with agony. He knows how he feels about Snafu. He doesn’t want to put a name to the big, chest-swelling feelings he has but he knows he’d rather die than have Snafu bleed out under his hands. He’d rather be completely alone.

Eugene helps set up a small aid station and afterward he sits down to rest there instead of finding Snafu or Burgie or De L’Eau like he’d normally do. The grass is damp and cool under him as he lays back and puts his head on his pack. It’s not a great pillow but it’s the softest thing that he has. Soldiers don’t have the luxury of softness in war he supposes, even if they don’t have guns in their hands. 

He thinks maybe he’s managed to fall asleep when he’s jolted back into awareness by someone jostling up against him. He blinks his eyes open and turns to look at Snafu in sleepy confusion. 

To his credit, Snafu looks chagrined at having woken him. “Sorry.” He reaches out and touches the tip of Eugene’s ear with soft fingers. 

“‘S fine,” Eugene grumbles, tilting his head away. He wants to take comfort from Snafu’s touch, to curl up as close to him as he can get without getting them both in trouble. He also wants to roll away from him, to never get touched by him again.

“Bill gonna be alright?” Snafu’s tone is light enough that Eugene doesn’t think he understands the depth of the bruise he’s prodding, but Eugene wishes he’d fuck off in any case. It’s more difficult than he’d have expected not to say it out loud.

“He’ll be fine.” He knows that Snafu considers Bill a friend as well and he knows he should be more forthcoming with information about Bill’s wellbeing but he just can’t bring himself to talk about it. 

Snafu nods and picks at a string on the hem of his shirt. “Looked pretty bad.”

“I’m trying to sleep.” Eugene’s voice is sharp and cold. He turns onto his side and faces away from Snafu, tucking his face between his pack and his arm. 

“The fuck’s the matter with you?” The confusion and hurt in Snafu’s voice don’t make Eugene feel particularly proud of his behavior but he can’t shake the feeling that this is for the best. It’ll be in Snafu’s best interest in the long run to have a medic who won’t freeze when he needs help even if it means hurt feelings now. When Eugene doesn’t answer, he hears rustling as Snafu gathers up his things and walks away.

Eugene closes his eyes again and tries to pretend he doesn’t feel the searing heat turned ice of tears dripping sideways off his nose.

  


* * *

  


The days grow infinitely long for Eugene in the wake of his self-imposed isolation. He spends most of his time separate from the men sorting bandages or looking after minor wounds or ailments. When he has to talk to someone, it’s usually to another medic or a “yes sir” or “no sir” to a ranking officer. 

He notices the looks Snafu, Burgie, and De L’Eau send him. He sees the frustration and concern on their faces but he manages to avoid any confrontations with them. Any time one of them approaches him with intent he makes himself scarce. When he was little, Eugene was a champion hide-and-seek player. He had a talent of making himself so forgettable and unobtrusive that he could almost hide in plain sight. He taps into that skill now. 

It works less successfully on Snafu than it does on the others. That same stare that unnerved him so much at the beginning of their acquaintance still follows him now. He doesn’t know exactly what Snafu is looking for but he can feel those odd eyes burning holes into him almost everywhere he goes. 

Eugene isn’t so removed from the situation that he doesn’t see the negative impact his exile is having on himself. His endeavor to spend as much time apart from the others as possible means that he eats less than normal in an attempt to escape mealtimes as hastily as possible. Even if he sits apart from everyone else, someone will inevitably try to sit down next to him if he stays too long. Then they’ll draw him into a conversation and once they get talking he’s too polite to leave. The better option is to just not leave any windows for conversation open in the first place. 

His sleep is plagued with nightmares filled with the dead faces of his friends and he starts dreading sleep more and more. He keeps himself awake later and forces himself to rise earlier, desperate to escape his own sleeping mind. His brain feels sluggish when he’s awake and he nods off more than once while riding in one of the trucks or waiting for orders.

He’s also painfully, dreadfully lonely. Without the terrible jokes of the other guys, he can’t remember the last time he smiled and meant it. He misses Jay’s sarcasm and California-style easy-going nature. He misses Burgie’s guidance and quiet confidence. 

Most of all he misses Snafu. He aches with missing him. He misses kissing and touching him of course, but he also misses just talking to him or sitting shoulder to shoulder without saying anything at all. He’s even missing the unsettling stares, barbed words, and cold demeanor. He misses feeling important to someone, misses the comfortable knowledge that someone is looking forward to seeing him and spending time with him. 

When he looks at himself in the mirror to shave he almost doesn’t recognize himself. Gone is the baby fat around his cheeks that had lingered since his youth. There’s dark streaks of exhaustion under his eyes that look like someone’s dipped their thumbs in purple paint and pulled them down toward Eugene’s cheekbones.

Even Ack-Ack seems to notice something’s off. He makes a point to check in with Eugene more than usual, to ask him about how he’s doing, how he’s holding up. Eugene grits his teeth and tries to hide his self-loathing at the fact that even Ack-Ack has noticed his weakness. By extension this means that Hillbilly has noticed too. He’s gruffer in his concern but he tries to pressure Eugene to eat and sleep more in turn. 

Two and a half weeks pass after Nuenen in this vein. They’ve stopped in a small town on their way north and for the first time in a while the men have solid roofs over their heads and hot showers. The very air around the men seems to relax but Eugene keeps himself as busy as ever. He’s getting to work after a long night of restless sleep when Snafu grabs him hard by the upper arm. Eugene startles at the sudden contact and stumbles as Snafu drags him around the back of a nearby building. He pushes Eugene hard against the wall.

“What the hell are you doin’?” Eugene’s annoyed by the rough treatment but he finds that he’s too damn exhausted to fight back the way he wants to. He crosses his arms and glares back at Snafu. 

“I should be askin’ you that. You ain’t hardly talked to us in weeks. You look like shit. What the fuck do you think you’re playin’ at?”

Eugene feels his shoulders curl in as if to protect himself. “It’s not your business.”

Snafu shoves him back again, and his head thunks dully on the stone. “The fuck it’s not.” When Eugene looks up into his eyes he sees more hurt there than he was expecting and he hates it. “What’s this about Gene? This about Bill?” Eugene winces at his name and a triumphant look passes over Snafu’s face. “I’m right ain’t I? Gene, Bill’s gonna be fine. He’ll be back with us before we leave Holland.” 

“I know that,” Eugene snaps, then immediately hates himself for rising to the bait. He wishes he could just stay silent and calm and that Snafu would just go away. Snafu glares at him expectantly like he’s waiting for a fight and Eugene finally finds the strength to push past him. “Just leave me alone, Shelton.” He’s glad his back is turned so he can’t see the look on Snafu’s face as he walks away.

  


* * *

  


Snafu respects his wishes for once and does leave him alone. He won’t even look at Eugene anymore. Before, it felt like Snafu was always trying to catch his gaze and Eugene now feels each missed opportunity for eye contact like a punch in the gut. He wishes he’d never asked to be left alone in the first place. He hates himself for putting him and all of his buddies in this situation.

They stay set up in one town in Holland for quite some time. They get warm showers and solid lodgings but everyone’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. It seems to Eugene that war consists mostly of marching and waiting. Waiting for orders, for the enemy to engage, for supplies. It’s no different just because Eugene’s heart is breaking. They practice maneuvers while they wait for orders, more ceaseless marching and blisters. 

Eugene is working in the aid station when De L’Eau ducks in. “Can I come in Doc?” It’s the first time he’s spoken to Eugene directly in some time and it’s so nice to hear a familiar voice talking to him. 

“‘Course, come sit.” He scans over De L’eau for injuries as he walks in and takes stock of the slight limp. “Blisters?”

“Yeah,” Jay says sheepishly. He sits down on the cot and gingerly unties his boots. Eugene helps him gently tilt them off in a way that won’t pop the blisters before he’s ready. Soldiers aren’t known for keeping their feet clean so it’s always best to get blisters popped with sterile equipment and bandaged by a medic. “I got new boots and they’re not worn in yet.”

Eugene hums a little, peeling off Jay’s sock. He’s got several painful-looking blisters and Eugene sighs. “You should come see a medic before they get this bad. It could be trouble if you pop them while you’re walkin’.” He starts working on De L’Eau’s feet and glances up to see him looking down at him with a curious expression. “What?”

“You look like hell.” Jay is as blunt as ever and Eugene sets his mouth in a firm line. “We’ve been worried about you.”

“We’re in a war. You got bigger things to worry about.” He starts to wrap a bandage firmly around Jay’s foot. 

“You’re my friend. I’m going to worry about you.” He says it as though it’s really that simple and Eugene clenches his jaw. “I know Snaf came and talked to you and I know he probably fucked it up. I think he misses you too much to be any good at talking and he was bad at it to begin with. But you went from being our friend to disappearing every time we walked in your direction and you look like shit.” He ducks his head down to try and meet Eugene’s eye. “What’s going on?” 

Eugene doesn’t say anything. 

Jay flexes his hands on the edge of the cot. “Bill’s alive, Eugene.”

“But it’s no thanks to me is it?” Eugene’s voice is snappish and cold. “I froze. I saw him hurt and bleeding and I got so scared that I couldn’t do my job. If that’s what havin’ friends out here is like then I’ll stick to bein’ by myself.”

Jay looks incredibly unimpressed and Eugene feels as much of a disappointment as he ever has. “Yeah and how’s that working out for you? Jesus, Eugene. People need more than food and water to be okay. The shit we see out here…” His voice trails off for a moment before he comes back to himself. “We need people sometimes. We need people to make us laugh or let us cry on ‘em or to complain to when our CO is making us do maneuvers again. You need that too Eugene. We’ve stuck with each other this long. Don’t shut us out now.” 

He pauses for a minute and when Eugene’s silence makes it clear that he isn’t going to reply he keeps talking. “I want a friend taking care of me if I get hit.” He sounds soft and there’s something in his voice that hints that he’s thought about this before. “I want a guy who knows my full name, knows where I grew up, knows the kind of thing that might make me feel better. If I’m crying out for my mom at the end, I want the guy who hears it to know some stories about her and feel comfortable writing to her about me. You hesitated with Bill, yeah, but I think you’d have come through for him once you got over the shock. I trust you to get the job done. I trust you because I know you. Because you’re my friend.”

Eugene feels suitably guilty and he knows that it’s written all over his face. Jay reaches down to pull his boot tenderly back onto his foot. Eugene clears his throat and stands. “Keep an eye on that. Come back if it gets red or warm or…”

“Or if it starts doing something else weird, I know.” Jay smiles Eugene a little. “See you around Doc.”

  


* * *

  


Stubbornness is a Sledge family trait. He’s seen it often enough in his father, his brother, and he’s not too proud to admit he sees it in himself too. Sid called him bull-headed enough growing up that he’d have to be in real denial not to know it. Due to this stubbornness it takes him a few more days to eat crow enough to approach the guys. 

It’s chow time, some sort of meat stew that Eugene never would have eaten a year and a half ago. It smells innocent enough but there’s a note of boot leather that comes through right at the end that turns his stomach. He takes his share with a muttered “thanks” and looks around. There’s no tables set up but there’s piles of rubble and the odd abused-looking chair. 

Burgie’s claimed one of these chairs for himself and has it set up in the shade of a large tree that’s miraculously still standing a block or so away. Snafu’s sitting up against the trunk looking like a lazy cat, all stretched out and pleased. Jay’s seated on a low stone wall next to the tree, kicking his feet back and forth like a little kid. He spots Eugene first and grins, waving him over. 

Steeling himself, Eugene walks over to them. He feels anxiety roil in the pit of his stomach but that characteristic Sledge stubbornness keeps him putting one foot in front of the other until he’s standing a few short feet away. 

The pleased demeanor fades from Snafu as he looks up at Eugene. His eyes grow steadily colder and his lip curls up into a sneer. “What the fuck do you want?”

Burgie kicks him in the arm with enough force that Eugene almost feels bad for the bruise Snafu will have tomorrow. Almost. He’d be more sympathetic if Snafu wasn’t such an asshole. “Hey, Hammer. Have a seat.” 

“Thanks.” Eugene sits himself down on the grass. He’s in the shadows of the branches of the tree and he feels an uneven warmth on his back where the sun breaks through. He’s glad he’s wearing a shirt - it’d be an awkward sunburn. The weeks of isolation he’s put himself through stretch out in front of him and rob him of anything to say. He’s been out of the loop of their conversations for long enough that he’s not sure how to jump back in. He clears his throat and looks over to De L’Eau. “How’s the foot?”

Jay shrugs. “Better. I’m starting to get another blister on the other foot though.” Eugene tuts and it makes Jay laugh. “I’ll come see you later and let you fuss over it.” 

They eat in an uneasy silence for a while before Snafu sits up suddenly. “So we’re just gonna pretend like nothin’ happened?” His voice is sharp and biting and it makes Eugene hunch his shoulders. “You treated us like fuckin’ shit and now you’re gonna just walk right back in? Fuckin’ bullshit.” Eugene can tell that when he says ‘us’ he means ‘me’ and guilt and regret throb painfully in his chest.

“Snaf.” Burgie’s voice is simultaneously soothing and warning and Snafu turns to snarl at him. “Let it go. He’s back, ain’t he?”

“No, he’s right,” Eugene admits softly, looking between all of them. “I thought I was doing what was best, but it wasn’t. I’m sorry. I got all panicked when Bill got hit and I thought that maybe it’d be better if we weren’t friends. I thought I’d be able to treat you easier if we weren’t as close. I couldn’t stand the thought that I’d maybe hurt you out there.” Snafu scoffs and Burgie sighs. 

“We know, Sledge. It’s hard out here for everyone. But I hope you know now that it was a stupid choice and you're a goddamn idiot."

Eugene snorts. "Yeah I definitely realized that."

"Good." He settles in like he's going to keep eating his meal but he catches sight of the nasty look Snafu is shooting at Eugene. He sighs heavily in a self-suffering kind of way. "C’mon Jay. Let’s go play some cards.” He stands and picks up his tray. As he goes to leave he reaches out and grips the bone of Eugene’s shoulder, squeezing tightly.

Jay hops off the wall and stretches. “You’re just going to take my ass to the cleaners again.” 

“Maybe I’ll let you win this time.” They walk back toward the mess, bickering lightheartedly as they go. 

Eugene and Snafu are left sitting across from each other, both too stubborn to get up and leave before the other. Eugene casts a quick glance around and confirms that they’re quite alone. “Snaf, I don’t have a right to ask you to forgive me.” His voice is soft. “We… I should have talked to you about how I was feelin’. I owed you that and instead I treated you badly. I’m so sorry.” He blushes across his nose when his voice cracks. 

Snafu is watching him warily, probably searching his face for any trace of acting or putting on a show. Eugene aches to touch him, to press him back into the warm, sweet-smelling grass and convince him of how genuine he’s being. 

“You’re a stupid asshole Sledge.” Snafu’s voice is whip sharp and it makes Eugene wince. But he doesn’t argue or get up to leave so it feels like a victory. “You got a lot of ass-kissing to do.” 

“That a request?” Eugene gives a crooked smile and his heart lifts into his throat when Snafu snorts. 

“Like you’d know what to do with my ass.” He leans his head back against the trunk and Eugene takes a moment to drink the sight of him in. He’s got a little bit of bark curled into his hair from resting on the tree and Eugene reaches forward to pull it free from his curls. Snafu catches his wrist and holds it tight enough that Eugene thinks it might bruise. “I mean it. You ain’t outta hot water yet.” 

“I know.” And Eugene truly does know. He’s got a lot to make up for but he’s willing to put in the effort. Even just being close to Snafu again feels like salve on a burn and Eugene desperately wants to push forward into his space and kiss the breath out of him. 

“Okay.” Snafu strokes a thumb over the delicate veins in his wrist before he lets go. “Okay.”

  


* * *

  


Jay and Burgie accept Eugene back into the fold of their lives with an ease that shows him how much he means to them. They fill him in on everything he’s missed without him even having to ask. Granted he hasn’t missed much but it’s nice to hear that Burgie got a sweet letter from Florence and Jay finally kicked Burgie’s ass at poker.

Things between him and Snafu take a little longer to go back to normal. They tiptoe around each other with Eugene being overly polite and Snafu keeping his distance like an animal wary of a trap. It makes Eugene's heart ache to see his hesitance. He's sorry that he ever hurt Snafu and he wishes that he could take it all back but he knows that it's not possible. So he just extends all of his kindness to Snafu in the hopes that someday soon he'll accept it with the careless easiness that he had before. 

(At one point Jay comments to Burgie when he thinks Eugene can’t hear: “It’s like watching your parents after they fight.”

Burgie looks at him in mild horror. “Jesus Christ, is that what your folks are like?”)

But they’re average, red blooded young men. Eugene is only 20 and Snafu is 22. They can’t keep their hands off of each other for long.

It's a cool and sunny day when Snafu finally storms up to him with a face like a rain cloud. Eugene puts his hands up out of instinct, his eyes going wide. "Everythin' okay?"

"I don't wanna be mad at you anymore." Snafu's voice is tight but it still makes something in Eugene's chest loosen. 

"I don't want you to be mad at me either." Eugene takes a small step toward him and his heart soars when Snafu doesn't move away. 

"I don't know if I can trust you." 

Eugene puts his hands on Snafu's wrists - not gripping, just touching gently. "I know. And I know it don't mean much but you can. I swear you can. I can show you." After a few seconds of deliberation Snafu nods his head and they crash together in a tight embrace that Eugene doesn't ever want to break away from.

Making things up to Snafu proves enlightening and miles more enjoyable than Eugene deserves. He pays his penance with his mouth, his hands, on his knees, just trying to show Snafu how much it hurt Eugene to stay away from him. He learns the places on Snafu’s body that make him laugh and smile and he learns which ones will make him sigh or moan so prettily that Eugene can hardly stand to hear it. 

Eugene happily casts away the last shreds of his virginity in Holland. He fucks Snafu in a barn on the very edge of town as Snafu laughs and calls him a true country boy, rolling in the hay. Eugene joyfully returns the favor and lets Snafu fuck him and take him to pieces in the dark, empty aid station on the cool stone floor.

As they lie on the floor afterward passing a cigarette back and forth, Eugene turns his head to look at the side of Snafu’s face. “I think I love you.” 

It’s not totally unexpected when Snafu laughs at him. “I shoulda known you’d get sappy after.” But he turns and kisses Eugene with so much sweetness and tenderness that it doesn’t matter when he doesn’t say it back. Eugene knows anyway. 

  


* * *

  


Snafu’s earlier prediction turns out to be true: Bill goes AWOL from the hospital before they get their orders to leave Holland. They’ve been running drills for most of the day and Ack-Ack has given them a few hours to relax. Eugene is writing in his bible in the shade of a big tree and the other three are playing cards. Bill swaggers up to their camp with a grin on his scarred and scabbed face. 

“Well look at you lazy sons of bitches.” He drops his pack on the ground. “I leave for a few weeks and I come back to this? The Army’s really gone to shit without me.” Eugene looks up as the others cast their cards down and cheer. Burgie stands and shakes Bill’s hand. Snafu, damn him, turns and gives Eugene a smug grin as if to say ‘I told you so’. 

“Bill Leyden.” Burgie grins at him, still shaking his hand. “What the hell are you doin’ here?”

It’s a question Eugene is curious about as well. “There’s no way they let you out of the hospital yet.” Some of the deeper wounds on Bill’s face aren’t even fully healed yet.

“I decided to come back on my own in case youse guys were slacking. Guess I was right.” He leans down to pluck the cigarette De L’Eau has just lit out of his fingers. Taking pity on his friend, Eugene lights him one from his own pack and passes it to Jay instead. 

“Came back to cause trouble for Ack-Ack you mean,” Snafu drawls, plucking the new cigarette out of Jay’s hand as well and quickly taking a drag of it before he steals it back. 

Bill shrugs, the cigarette held loosely in the corner of his mouth. “He can handle it. I wanted to get back before all the replacements started flooding in. Hey, deal me in.” He sits down by Snafu and takes his cards as they’re passed to him. 

Eugene watches the stiff way he sits and shifts uncomfortably like there's some lingering pain in his bones. “Hey, Bill…”

“Shut up, Gene.” Bill’s strong Long Island accent makes it come out more like ‘shaddap’ and it makes Eugene smile a little. Bill doesn’t sound angry at all. He sounds almost fond. “You don’t got anything to apologize for.” 

  


* * *

  


The weather starts to turn cold and wet in a way Eugene is unfamiliar with and finds he does not care for at all. Bill’s the only one who doesn’t act like a wet cat as rain turns into sleet. 

“Christ Almighty who knew you all were so delicate?” he gripes as the rest of them huddle uncomfortably in their too-thin jackets. Being from Texas, Alabama, Louisiana, and California means the rest of them don’t have much experience with temperatures below 50 or so and the rapidly-turning weather sets them all on edge. 

Ack-Ack also seems to take the weather in stride. He encourages them all to start hoarding extra socks as he tries to secure the resources they’ll need to get through the winter. “Feet, hands, neck, balls, extra socks warm ‘em all!” he recites as he walks among the men, Hillbilly trailing behind him looking as cold and ornery as the rest of them. He pauses as he looks at Eugene. “My first sergeant taught me that one back at Quantico. It might not be Shakespeare but it’s good advice anyway.”

To take his mind off of the weather Eugene takes up smoking a pipe. He picks one up in a store in Holland and takes to carrying it around in his pocket. He likes the routine it gives him - packing it, smoking it, cleaning it. It reminds him of his father who always smells of warm pipe tobacco back home. 

The others tease him mercilessly of course. They whistle the tune of Popeye the Sailor when he pulls it out and call him gramps more often than they call him Eugene. Snafu is considerate enough to offer something else he can put in his mouth instead. 

Their orders to move out and into Belgium come suddenly and the 101st and K35 struggle to gather enough supplies. They’re low on ammunition, their wool coats haven’t reached them yet, and, most worrying as far as Eugene’s concerned, there’s an extremely limited supply of morphine. 

As they march into Belgium they pass the soldiers they’ll be relieving who stagger and limp toward the questionable refuge of Holland. There’s a gnawing in the pit of Eugene’s stomach setting off warning bells in his mind that this isn’t going to end well. 

As they march up the dirt road that will lead them into the deep, dark woods, none of them knows what awaits them there. If they did, they might never have gone at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from Gregory Alan Isakov's Bullet Holes.


	5. Things Just Cannot Grow Beneath the Winter Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belgium is nothing short of a frigid hell. He feels frozen from the outside in and every breath he takes seems to turn a little bit more of his lungs into ice. It feels like he’s swallowed a dozen ice cubes whole and they’re fighting to melt in his throat and chest. 
> 
> The Ardennes, part 1

It turns out that Belgian winters are very different from the ones Eugene knows from the southern coast of Alabama. In the winter of ‘42 there had been the slightest dusting of snow on the ground in early December. Eugene and his not-yet-enlisted friends had been as delighted as little boys as they’d tried to scrape it up into muddy snowballs. He can’t say he finds the same joy in snow anymore.

Belgium is nothing short of a frigid hell. He feels frozen from the outside in and every breath he takes seems to turn a little bit more of his lungs into ice. It feels like he’s swallowed a dozen ice cubes whole and they’re fighting to melt in his throat and chest, choking him. 

Everyone is struggling with the elements of course, but Eugene thinks that the southerners are dealing with it all just a little more poorly. For those like Snafu, Burgie, Hillbilly and Eugene himself, the weather is beyond their wildest imaginations. Most have never seen a snowflake let alone the wet, heavy inches of snow that drop on them and fill their foxholes with muddy slush that seeps through every scrap of fabric they try to keep warm with. And they don’t have near enough warm fabric to begin with.

The uniforms the men are wearing are better suited to warm weather than to cold and provide very little protection against the biting winds. They have no gloves, no hats, no wool coats. Men who are lucky enough to have mothers who knit start begging for sweaters, scarves, or mittens in their letters home. Eugene keeps his own letters light and tries not to let on how much he’s struggling. If his mother knew how to sew or knit he’d likely ask her to send something warm, but she’s never been much of a seamstress.

He hasn’t been able to feel the tips of his fingers for what feels like years, nor the end of his nose. While others huddle in their foxholes crammed up as close to each other as they can, Eugene moves from hole to hole checking in on the guys. His feet are always soaked through and the only reason he doesn’t have trench foot is because he knows what to do to stave it off. He usually has a pair of socks or two drying around his neck at any given moment and the guys don't even tease him about it. On the rare occasions that people have fires going to cook food or make coffee he’ll leave them by the flame and berate the soldiers until they do the same.

He keeps a particularly close eye on his friends. With the exception of Bill, none of them have blood thick enough for this type of winter, and even Bill suffers. Jay develops a wheezing cough that whistles through his lungs every time he breathes. The cough itself vibrates through the air and leaves Jay gasping in a way that makes Eugene anxious. All he can do is encourage others to sit close to him and keep him warm and to share their blankets. Burgie and Bill try to pretend that the cold doesn’t bother them. They never mention it, just shiver grimly in their holes. Despite this Eugene has definitely found them cuddled together more than once. Snafu turns out to be a real hothouse orchid. He wilts in the cold with a fierceness Eugene wasn’t expecting. He clings to all of them tightly, propriety be damned. The only reason he doesn’t sit in their laps is because the others won’t let him - they complain that he sucks all the body heat out of them and doesn’t give any back.

Part of Eugene’s job as a medic is also to encourage soldiers not to sleep alone. Sleeping alone, there’s no one there to provide a soldier with body heat and no one to notice if they stop breathing in the night. The reminders usually aren’t necessary as everyone is desperate enough for warmth that all societal norms go out the window. Men sleep with their noses in each other’s necks, their heads on each other’s shoulders, and holding hands tightly. It’s very hard for Eugene to keep from cooing when he peers into a foxhole to find two or more burly soldiers snuggling like kittens. At night he sleeps curled against Snafu, the two of them pressed as close together as they can get in a desperate attempt to steal each others’ body heat. The heavy cover they keep on top of their hole offers them privacy but they’re both too damn cold to even think about unbuttoning their pants let alone touching each other in sensitive places with icicles for hands. Just the idea makes Eugene cringe and that has never once been his reaction to the idea of Snafu touching his dick.

One of the things that makes Eugene's life something close to normal is the act of writing in the small margins of his bible. He tracks the days they spend in the woods with tallies. He writes snippets of his thoughts around the words of the Lord and tries not to think of them side by side: ones of faith and hope compared to ones of death and despair.

Their new home is deep in the Ardennes forest where they are sheltered by branches and frozen earth and not much more. In a different life Eugene thinks he would have called the forest beautiful. The regal pines stand like ancient sentinels, so tall that Eugene has to crane his neck far back to see the tops. It’s still and peaceful between shellings and machine gun fire and Eugene is sure that the woods are home to fascinating birds and other wildlife when there’s not a war on. He wishes he could see them but he knows very well that if he ever makes it out of here alive, he’ll never step foot in these woods again.

  


* * *

  


After a couple of weeks in the Ardennes replacements start flooding in at such a rate Eugene can hardly keep them all straight. He tries because most of the replacements are barely 18 and are rightly terrified of everything that’s happening around them and they need a little kindness. The replacements are enthusiastic and clean and the fact that they can remember what a hot shower feels like rankles all of the vets. Two of the replacements, Hamm and Peck, are assigned to Burgie’s platoon and are therefore underfoot more often than not. 

Hamm is a sweet-natured kid from New Jersey. He’d enlisted the day after his 18th birthday to do his duty for his country. Eugene doesn’t even think he shaves yet. Even Eugene’s jaw and upper lip fill out with stubble after a few days without a razor but Hamm’s seem to stay baby smooth. He’s annoyingly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

It’s Hamm’s optimism that seems to annoy everyone the most. Eugene and the rest all have a sinister voice that whispers in the back of their head that they will never make it out of these woods. Their foxholes will be their graves. They embrace this premonition because it seems like a better idea to be resigned to one’s fate than to leap forward with hope and have it fail you. Cynicism becomes a baby blanket.

“Maybe they’ll surrender,” Hamm chirps one dark evening as they all sit around and eat their repulsive mystery meat stew from tin cups. A patrol had made contact with the German line earlier in the day and everyone is still on edge from the constant tat-tat-tat of machine gun fire that still continues.

“Just shut the fuck up Hamm.”

Snafu in particular seems to take issue with Hamm’s existence. Eugene is helping Hamm dig his foxhole a few days after he arrives. It’s a difficult task seeing as the ground is frozen enough to feel like they’re trying to break into cement. Eugene stops to breathe in the icy air and Snafu walks up and puts a lit cigarette between Eugene’s lips. Eugene smiles smittenly up at him and Snafu grins back before his eyes slide over to Hamm and his face takes on a cruel edge. “Don’t know why you even bother, Sledgehammer. They’ll be dead in a few days. I don’t even wanna know their names.” Eugene shoots him a look, trying to communicate that he’s being an asshole. 

“My name’s Hamm. H-A, two Ms. Just use it to get my attention.” Eugene feels a glimmer of admiration for the kid, really. Snafu can be intimidating. Hell he can be downright frightening. Standing up to any veteran can be difficult let alone one as experienced and nasty as Snafu. 

Snafu snorts and plucks the cigarette out of Eugene’s mouth to take a drag. “Hamm with two Ms.” He grins in a way that almost looks friendly until he opens his mouth. “Now I gotta forget somethin’.”

Tony Peck is a different sort altogether. He’s frightened and self-serving with a laziness that grates against them all. As the others work to watch the line or reinforce their foxholes or make each other coffee, Peck sits staring at a picture that he’s got sealed in a page protector. He’d made the mistake of telling Bill that his girl’s name is Kathy and now it's all Bill and Snafu will call him. 

He’s also their first replacement who’s been drafted. If this had been the 101st Airborne, none of the replacements would be draftees. But for K35 it’s apparently decided that they aren’t elite enough of a unit to merit getting only enlisted men. That fact alone riles them all up but the fact that their first draftee is a guy like Peck is just insult to injury. 

“Hamm, were you drafted too?” Bill asks once they’ve learned about Peck. Hamm shakes his head, looking a little offended they’d even ask.

The day after he arrives, Peck is sitting making moon-eyes at the photo. He looks tired and defeated in a way that guys who’ve been fighting since Normandy might be. Eugene is crouching on the edge of the foxhole, shooting annoyed glances over at him every so often. Snafu sits down across from him, dirty and weary with something predatory in his eyes. Eugene runs a hand over the back of Snafu’s neck to comfort him but also to try and keep him in line. 

Ignoring him completely, Snafu sneers at Peck. When he notices Peck's demeanor and attitude his mouth flattens into something more like a snarl. “One day of combat and you all wore out? You shit outta luck, Kathy. Kraut bastards are fightin’ for their own turf now. Every step closer we get to Germany, they’re gonna get meaner and meaner.” Snafu leans in real close to Peck and Eugene sees him lean back in response. “So you better get mean too, boo.” He bares his teeth, his voice rasping low on the word ‘mean’ in a way that does something to the pit of Eugene’s stomach that it is neither the time nor the place for. He puts his pipe in his mouth to try and distract himself and takes a few strong puffs. Maybe Snafu’s right about him having an oral fixation.

Peck is so preoccupied by Snafu that he doesn’t have time to react when Bill grabs the picture out of his hands. Bill whistles long and low as he looks at the photo. “See, now THIS is what I needed. A little visual stimulation.” He makes a jerking-off motion and moans obscenely then passes the photo to Snafu. Eugene sits down on the edge of the foxhole and starts to count how many bandages he has left. He doesn’t exactly approve of what’s happening but he’s certainly not going to intervene on Peck’s behalf. 

Snafu hops out of the foxhole and struts away from Peck's grasping hand. “Ooh. Ooh, la la la. Now THAT’S a piece of ass.” He leers down at the photo and Eugene has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. It’s a convincing show - at least, he thinks darkly, it’d better be a show. 

“Hey careful, that’s the man’s wife you’re talkin’ about,” Eugene responds casually around the pipe held in his teeth as he roots around in Snafu’s bag for extra bandages. He looks up and holds his hand out for the picture and Snafu hands it over with a grin, moving around to rest his hip against Eugene’s shoulder. 

The photo is of a blonde woman, more undressed than dressed. The lingerie she’s wearing shows off her shapely figure about as well as any clothes could. She’s posed like a pin-up, her long, shapely legs leading down to the highest heels Eugene has ever seen (though admittedly he doesn’t know that much about ladies’ shoes). Even Eugene can tell that she’s a stunner and he finds it’s not much of a reach for him to sound interested. “Wow.” Eugene takes the pipe out of his mouth. “I’d marry her.” Snafu pinches his shoulder in a sharp, mostly playful way.

“Marry her? Christ Sledge, who said anything about marriage?” Bill sounds incredibly unimpressed as he snatches the photo back just as Peck tries to reach for it. Bill hits the side of Eugene’s head with it and Eugene grins around his pipe. “Fuckin’ virgin.” Eugene very deliberately does not make eye contact with Snafu at that particular false observation but he can feel the smugness radiating off of him; he’d taken care of Eugene’s virginity some time ago now.

“Wait,” Bill sounds incredulous inching somewhere towards gleeful as he flips the photo over. It’s a concerning tone of voice in Bill and usually precedes him being an asshole or getting into trouble. “Kathy Jones? I thought you said your name was Peck.” Twin smiles creep over Snafu and Bill’s faces and a chill goes up Eugene’s spine like someone just walked on his grave. “Oh Jesus, she’s not your wife!” Eugene shakes his head to himself with a scowl, his impression of Peck sinking even lower. Despite the fact that Eugene will most likely never be married himself he was taught his whole life to respect the sanctity of marriage. Adultery turns his stomach.

“Ooh,” Snafu says tauntingly in the way a schoolboy would when their classmate got called to the principal’s office. “What’s the missus think of Kitty Kat?” He shimmies a little. The two of them start cackling like hyenas until Burgie comes up behind them and slaps the backs of their heads. 

“Shut up, goddamnit. We’re on noise discipline.” He narrows his eyes and grabs the picture out of Bill’s hands. He looks down at it for a minute and his eyes go a little wide, causing Snafu and Bill to start chuckling again. Burgie turns red as he folds the picture in half and tosses it into Peck’s lap. “Put that thing away and get to goddamn work.”

Jay walks over and sees them snickering and frowns. “What’d I miss?”

  


* * *

  


A fog descends over the forest and lingers like a bad smell, preventing American air support from dropping any supplies. They try but after a few times where they drop the supplies to the Germans instead, all attempts are suspended until the fog lifts. The men still have no winter clothing and Eugene is seeing more and more cases of trench foot, pneumonia, and frostbite with each passing day. Food is running short and ammo is distressingly hard to come by. Eugene’s supply of bandages and morphine are dwindling at a rapid rate and he’s not sure when they’ll be able to get any more. He and the other medics have started rationing their supplies. Minor wounds don’t get bandages and morphine isn’t given out unless a soldier is in desperate need. Not even officers are getting special treatment anymore.

There's nothing in the forest to distinguish one tree from the next and the whole thing feels like a maze that twists and reforms every time Eugene thinks he’s just about got the layout down. Germans get lost and wander into their line and vice versa. Eugene has the feeling that he’s just about stumbled into enemy territory more than once. He’s glad he doesn’t know for sure.

But the worst thing by far about the Ardennes is the unpredictable and often devastating artillery bombardments. There’s often no warning but the familiar and heart-stopping whine of an incoming bomb. The men live in a constant state of high-alert as they can never be sure when another attack will be coming. Eugene has been caught out in the open during a bombing more often than he wants to think about. The trees turn into weapons as soon as the concussive blasts strike them, natural grenades that spit wooden shrapnel into soft bodies without prejudice.

It occurs to Eugene that they’re basically fighting some sort of glorified trench warfare except everyone’s in foxholes instead of trenches. The Germans have their line and the Americans have theirs and the two are separated by a few hundred feet of No Man’s Land in between. But now there’s shells capable of reliably making it into enemy territory without any crazed attempts to rush the enemy’s line. 

The general rule for soldiers during a bombardment is that you find a foxhole, hunker down, and you keep your goddamn head down until it’s done. A medic doesn’t have this luxury. As soon as the first explosion goes off, there will inevitably be a scream for a medic that rends the air and said medic will have to leave the paltry safety of his foxhole and run through the exploding woods to find the wounded man and administer aid.

This is the case during one particular shelling that occurs early in the day. The bombs are particularly close to Eugene and Snafu’s foxhole and the very air around them seems dangerous and filled with sharp objects eager to rip through flesh and spill blood. Eugene and Snafu are pressed against one another with their arms curled around their heads and necks. In the momentary still between bombs Eugene hears “I NEED A MEDIC OVER HERE” screamed and he immediately stands up and puts his hands on the edge of the foxhole to launch himself over the side.

“Gene you can’t go out there right now. Don’t be fuckin’ stupid.” Snafu’s got his forearm in a vice grip, his fingers curling in the too-light fabric of Eugene’s jacket. His voice is genuinely frightened. Eugene can feel the icy points of each one of his fingers through his sleeve and he puts his own hand over Snafu’s to try and loosen his hold. 

“I have to Snaf. Someone’s callin’ for me, I have to go.” In the chaos of the moment he feels shielded enough to press a hard kiss against Snafu’s frozen mouth just in case it’s the last opportunity he gets. He finally breaks free of Snafu’s grip and scrambles out of the foxhole. He can hear the shells whistling through the air and each explosion jolts his heart a little further up into his throat until it feels like he's choking on it. 

“Wait!” Eugene turns around to face Snafu and he puts his hand out automatically to catch the syrette of morphine that Snafu tosses to him. “Save some for me.” He smiles grimly and the thought of Snafu getting hurt bad enough to need morphine makes Eugene’s stomach twist miserably. He nods at Snafu before he turns toward the increasingly panicked cries of “MEDIC!”

He runs as low to the ground as he can manage with one hand holding onto his helmet. He can hear the explosions behind him, in front of him, to both sides, and he starts to mouth the Lord’s prayer as he moves. God has protected him this far; maybe His grace can hold on just a little bit more. 

There’s a pause in the bombardment, and Eugene lets himself slow ever so slightly. He looks around and sees Hillbilly running between foxholes, crouched as low as his towering height will let him go. “Stay in your holes!” he’s hissing as he moves. “Don’t get lazy, this ain’t over.” Eugene turns his gaze away and keeps moving.

He’s right near Burgie and De L’Eau’s foxhole when a shell goes off close beside him knocking him off of his feet. He twists and lands hard on his stomach, one of his elbows bending painfully as he tries to catch himself. There’s ice under the snow and the wind is knocked out of him when he hits the ground. His helmet bounces a little ways away and he reaches out with his aching arm to snag it and pull it back on his head.

“Eugene!”

“Sledgehammer, get in here goddamnit!”

He looks up into the frantic eyes of his friends and takes a moment to draw some air into his lungs. He pulls himself up out of the snow, not looking behind him as he scrambles toward Burgie and Jay’s foxhole. Burgie grabs the front of his ODs and pulls him in roughly. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine, I just got the wind knocked out of me.” His friends look over him worriedly. “I’m tellin’ you, I’m alright.” Burgie opens his mouth like he's about to argue, but Eugene can't spare any attention to give him. Another desperate call for a medic rings out and Eugene takes a deep breath. “I gotta go. Stay in your holes.” Before either of them can stop him Eugene pulls himself out of the foxhole and makes a run for it.

He follows the summoning hollers for a medic and slides into the foxhole where three soldiers are frantically trying to quiet their friend’s screaming. It’s Redifer that’s wounded and Eugene drops his pack next to him as he gets down on his knees. The shelling has finally stopped but Eugene hardly notices.

“Shh Red, it’s alright. You’re gonna be just fine.” He keeps his voice low and calm like he’s trying to approach a spooked horse. He glances at the three men around him. “Get out of the way, let me see.” He keeps his voice firm and commanding like an officer; sometimes the men can’t focus in this state of mind unless it feels like an order. They move toward Redifer’s head and Eugene has to fight the instinct to hiss out a sharp breath at what he sees.

One of the tree bursts has shot a sharp splinter about as long as a man’s forearm into the middle of Redifer’s stomach where it protrudes grotesquely. He takes out his scissors and cuts away the uniform around the wound to try and see it better without removing the wood. Blood is bubbling up sluggishly around the branch and Eugene feels confident that it’s the only thing stopping Redifer from bleeding himself to death. Eugene sits back on his heels. “Get me a jeep, he needs to get to the aid station.” 

“You’re not gonna take it out?” one of Redifer’s friends demands and Eugene shakes his head. 

“If I pull that thing out now he’ll bleed out before he makes it to the surgeon. Just get him a jeep.” In the meantime he sticks Redifer with a syrette of morphine and pins it to his collar so the surgeon will know how much he’s gotten. When the jeep comes, wheels spinning and squealing against the snow, he helps get Redifer loaded in. He stands and watches the vehicle disappear through the trees and he wishes so badly that he could be on it. Maybe it’d just keep driving until he got as far away from Belgium as it's possible be. As he stands one of his buddies, Barrie, comes up to him with wide eyes.

“Fuck Doc, you’re hurt.”

Eugene looks down at his hands and the front of his uniform where some of Redifer’s blood has seeped in. “What? No, this blood’s not mine.” He wipes his hands on the torso of his ODs.

“I’m watching it bleed out of you Doc, I’m pretty fuckin’ sure it’s yours. You’re bleeding on your leg. You can’t feel that?”

As soon as the soldier mentions it, a steadily increasing burn starts to bloom on Eugene's left thigh just above the knee. Blood has started to seep into his uniform both above and below the wound making it look as though the wound itself is growing larger with every passing second. The wet cloth begins to freeze against his skin.

“Fuck.” As the adrenaline continues to wear off, the flames of pain roar into life. Eugene sits down hard on his ass with a gasp. It hurts like nothing he’s felt before, sharp and hot and aching all at once. Eugene’s experiences with significant pain are few and far between - he was an overcautious child with a protective and hovering mother - but he can’t imagine there’s many things that could hurt you in civilian life that would feel like this. He fumbles with his bag with shaking hands trying to get a bandage out but the shaking is so bad that he can’t open the packaging.

“MEDIC!” Barrie calls out, watching on with anxious eyes. Eugene wants to tell him to fuck off and look somewhere else, that he doesn’t need aid because he’s a goddamn medic, but he’s afraid he’ll vomit if he opens his mouth.

One of his fellow medics, Womack, a tall sandy-haired viking of a man in his mid-thirties runs over, leaping over downed trees like a gazelle. He skids to a stop next to Eugene and tuts. “What did you do to yourself?” 

“Don’t know,” Eugene hisses through gritted teeth. “Didn’t feel it right away.” It’s then that Eugene realizes what little control he has over this situation and a hot rush of panic sweeps over him. He digs his fingers into the ground at his side, gripping hard enough to turn the snow in his hands to palm-shaped chunks of ice. He tries to remember what Snafu taught him on the transport ship on D-Day about calming down but it feels like a lifetime ago now.

Womack grips the ripped and frayed edges of Eugene’s slacks around the wound and tugs hard, making the hole big enough that he can see the wound through it. 

“You did a good job, Eugene. You got something stuck in there.” Womack’s accent is thick and nasal and Eugene distracts himself by trying to remember where he’s from. Somewhere way up north. Michigan, he thinks. Maybe it’s why Womack seems so much in his element in these God forsaken woods. He’s used to frozen wastelands. He can’t help but whimper as Womack starts prodding around the wound. He can see the tip of the foreign object in the wound and for some reason it turns his stomach infinitely more than Redifer’s wound had and he has to look away before he’s sick. Womack sprinkles some sulfa powder on it and pulls a bandage out of his bag. “No help for it, it’s got to come out.” 

Womack reaches into his bag again and pulls out a syrette of morphine but Eugene shakes his head. “Someone else is gonna need that more than I do. Just do it fast.” He’s not trying to be brave or tough, he’s just being practical. He knows every shelling brings with it missing limbs or gut wounds. They’ll need every single syrette they can get. 

Womack shrugs and puts the morphine away before he starts to wrap the bandage tightly around Eugene’s leg. Eugene can feel himself turn gray with the pain of it. “Eugene I’m not going to take it out here. You have to go to town to the aid station.” He sounds incredulous and he’s looking at Eugene like he’s lost his mind.

Eugene slams his fist into the snow. “They’ll pull me off the line and put a different medic in.” He can’t stand the idea of someone else looking out for his guys. He can't trust that anyone cares about them as much as he does, that anyone will go to the same lengths to keep them safe and healthy. 

Womack’s eyes are kind and sympathetic. “That doesn’t seem like such a bad thing. You’ll get some hot food, some coffee, some pretty nurses, and a little time away from all of this.” He gestures around himself at all of the frozen and shattered trees. “You won’t be gone for long, Sledge.” Another cry for a medic rings out and Womack perks up immediately. He glances up at Barrie. “Go call a jeep. Find someone to help you get Sledge into it. You’ll be fine, Sledge.” He pats Eugene’s good knee and then he’s up and off again, his long legs carrying him through the snow to the next casualty.

Barrie shifts his weight from foot to foot anxiously and the snow squeaks under his boots. “You gonna be okay if I leave you here?” 

“Jesus Christ, I ain’t dying. Just go!” Barrie races off and Eugene looks down at his bandaged leg and mutters angrily to himself. “Stupid, stupid. Get yourself shelled like a goddamned idiot.” 

By the time Barrie comes back, Eugene has managed to get his breathing under control. He’s not sure if it’s because of the time he’s had to try and get himself together or if the crash of adrenaline has exhausted him. Barrie runs over with someone beside him and bless him, he’s found Snafu. Eugene wants to reach out to him and cry and let himself be comforted, but now is certainly not the time.

For the first time in a long time, maybe since D-Day, genuine fear flickers across Snafu’s face. He hovers above Eugene fretting in a way that reminds Eugene strongly of his nana and it takes a lot of willpower for him not to say that out loud. It doesn’t seem like the time and he doubts Snafu would appreciate the comparison. “Oh fuck. Gene, what happened?” Snafu’s voice is hoarse and disbelieving. 

“Got hit with something during the shelling and it got itself stuck.” He looks over as Snafu kneels next to him and gets an arm around his middle. He wraps Eugene’s arm over his shoulder. Eugene can hear the sound of a jeep approaching and he shakes his head as Barrie runs to call it over. “I don’t wanna go off the line. I don’t wanna leave y’all behind.” There’s something in Snafu’s eyes that looks a little like panic but he doesn’t say anything, he just grips Eugene a little tighter.

Before Snafu can respond, the jeep skids to a halt. There’s already a badly wounded man laying across the hood of the vehicle but the passenger seat is open. Eugene bites down a curse when he’s lifted by Snafu and Barrie and his leg is jostled. He wants to go back to twenty minutes ago when he didn’t even realize he’d been wounded. He realizes that he got his wish about wanting a jeep to come for him, though. He could hit himself for wanting something so stupid. Snafu and Barrie carry Eugene around to the side and get him situated in the jeep. 

Snafu’s touch lingers. “I’ll see you soon Sledgehammer, alright?” Eugene reaches out to grab his sleeve for a moment before the jeep drives off. He can't bring himself to look back and watch Snafu grow smaller in the distance. 

The aid station is set up in Bastogne. It used to be in a beautiful old church but the church got bombed to pieces so now the aid station is in a big house in the center of town. It’s frankly a miracle the place is still standing. Its stone façade is pockmarked with bullet holes and there doesn’t seem to be an unbroken window in the whole joint. 

Two nurses run out of the house and help Eugene out of the car. It's not the first time that he's seen women since the start of the war but it is the first time since 1943 that he's had a lady's hand on him. It's more strange than comforting. 

"How urgent?" a brunette nurse with an American accent asks brusquely. 

Eugene flaps his hand as best as he can. "It's a leg wound. Not too bad. I can wait if you need me to."

The nurse nods gratefully and she and her colleague help usher him into the house. Each room they pass as they walk through the house is stuffed full with beds. The air smells like rot and antiseptic and sounds of discomfort and pain fill the place with noise. They find an empty bed for him and set him down gently, promising to be back soon. 

The bed is in what looks like it used to be a living room. The ceilings are high and decorated with intricate plaster work that has started to crumble. It's likely due to the near-constant percussive anti-aircraft guns that the Americans are always firing at German planes flying overhead and the bombs that the Germans have been dropping on Bastogne for weeks. There’s a large and ornate fireplace on the far wall that currently has a large pot boiling in it, probably to clean sheets or bandages. The walls are a buttery, comforting yellow that reminds Eugene of his bedroom at home. A sudden jolt of homesickness sweeps over Eugene and he fights to catch his breath. He wants nothing more than his father to soothe and heal his hurts or his mother to pet his hair as he sleeps. He lays back against the pillow (a real pillow!), trying to ignore his misery. The constant and ferocious pain in his leg is an excellent distraction. 

Eugene has never been shot before nor has he had a bomb fragment burrow into the meat of his leg. He’s not sure what he thought it’d feel like but he wasn’t expecting the burning to be so intense. He supposes the only pain he has to compare it to is the pain of a broken bone but the trauma of the injury is so incredibly different that the comparison doesn’t make much sense. 

For about 45 minutes Eugene sits on the bed and grits his teeth against the pain in his leg. The only distractions that he has are worse alternatives than focusing on the pain so he just sits in the bed and thinks about how he wishes his leg would just drop off like a lizard's tail. An exhausted-looking surgeon finally approaches him with the darkest circles under his eyes that Eugene can ever recall seeing on a person. He’s smoking a cigarette like it’s the only thing keeping him from losing it completely and Eugene can't blame him. He doesn’t exactly strike confidence into Eugene’s heart. 

“Name?” The surgeon barely looks at Eugene before he’s unwrapping the bandage tied around his leg. It’s stained red where blood has seeped into it but the wound isn't bleeding heavily anymore - a fact that Eugene is grateful for. 

“Private Eugene Sledge, sir.” He introduces himself through clenched teeth as the surgeon starts to investigate his wound more thoroughly. He pokes and prods at the skin surrounding the shrapnel and Eugene pounds his fist against the mattress to keep from punching the surgeon in the nose. 

The surgeon hums and stands up, wiping his hands on a towel that’s handed to him by a nurse. “You’ve got a decent-sized piece of shrapnel in there, Private.” He finally looks up at Eugene, his eyes catching on his armband and the cross on his helmet. “Medics make the worst patients.” He says this almost to himself and Eugene’s brow furrows in offence and irritation. The surgeon turns to the brunette nurse beside him. “Get him prepped for surgery.”

“Sir with all due respect, I don’t need surgery. Just… pull it out and I’ll be fine. Aren’t there more urgent wounds?”

“Son, which one of us is the trained surgeon here? If I just yank it out it could do more damage than the shrapnel’s done. As for urgency, if I let that thing sit and fester you might lose the leg.” He looks annoyed at having been challenged and Eugene curls his fingers around the edge of his blanket. The surgeon sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. “The surgery will take no time at all and then you’ll be on your way to healing.” He nods to the nurse and walks on to the next bed, leaving no room for further argument.

They take him to surgery pretty swiftly after that conversation. Despite his many childhood illnesses, Eugene has never had surgery before. The idea of potentially falling asleep and never waking up again has him a step away from panicking. His heart flutters in his throat as he lays down on the operating table. A pretty nurse puts the anesthesia mask over his nose and mouth. "Just go to sleep, soldier. I'll be right here waiting when you wake up." After a few breaths Eugene can feel his eyelids start to get heavy. He drifts to sleep quickly, lulled by the feeling of the nurse's petite hand stroking his hair. 

When he wakes up from surgery he feels fuzzy and weightless. He falls in and out of sleep several times, barely having enough energy to groggily wonder if they’ve done the surgery yet. When he finally wakes up for more than three minutes he feels so green that he swears he’ll never take morphine again. 

It takes about a day for him to become fully lucid after he wakes up from surgery. The drugs in his system fade more slowly than he likes and as they recede a burning pain settles into their place. The nurses offer him more morphine but he turns it down. He finds he doesn’t like not feeling in control of his own mind; he’d rather be awake and in pain. Some administrators come by the hospital and register him for a purple heart but compared to the suffering of the men around him he’s not sure he deserves it.

The first time he sees the wound with any clarity is during a frankly humiliating sponge bath administered by a middle aged woman two days after surgery. The nurse is kind enough but Eugene finds he’s not terribly excited to be curtly undressed and mopped down by a woman older than his mother. She unwraps the bandage around his leg and he hisses at the sight of it. His leg is stitched together rather gruesomely, like something out of one of the horror flicks Eugene was never allowed to watch back home. The wound aches and pulls when he moves around, keeping itself always in the forefront of his mind. But his leg is still there and the hospital has enough penicillin to stave off any infection so he counts himself lucky. 

As far as Eugene is concerned the worst part about being in the hospital is the boredom and the loneliness. During his illnesses in his childhood Eugene’s mother would keep him from going insane by reading to him or teaching him how to play cards. She’d also worked incredibly hard to make sure Eugene hadn’t fallen behind in any of his classes. Now, however, Eugene spends most of his days staring up at the water-stained ceiling and wishing he could be anywhere else. 

He misses his friends something fierce. Every time he hears artillery in the distance he frets over their safety. He worries that they’re too cold or too hungry or that maybe the other medics aren’t giving them the care they deserve. He misses Snafu. Even though they haven’t been intimate since they got to Belgium, he finds that he really desperately misses his company. It’s almost a relief to be reassured that his feelings for Snafu are deeper than physical. 

Eugene stays in the field hospital for a week before he’s so restless he can’t take it. He steals himself a refreshingly clean pair of ODs and boots and limps his way out of the hospital during a sudden influx of severely wounded soldiers. He stocks up on bandages, morphine, and sulfa powder on his way out. He’s not going to be caught out on the line with no supplies again. A nearby jeep takes him back to the line and he thanks the driver fervently before he hobbles back to his foxhole. 

It’s a relief to see that the tarp covering his hole is still intact meaning that Snafu at least has been spared too much shrapnel or, God forbid, any direct hits. As he approaches he can hear Bill and Snafu bickering and a grin spreads across his face. A week away has felt like a lifetime when he’s had no way of knowing whether his friends were even still alive. 

He lifts up the tarp and sits on the edge of the foxhole, knowing his leg likely won’t take too kindly to him just jumping in. “You sound like an old married couple.”

“Eugene!” Snafu helps him slide in and grins at him, putting a freezing cold hand on his cheek. “What the hell are you doin’ here?” Snafu helps him get situated between him and Bill and draws the blanket over the three of them.

“He missed me too much in that hospital.” Bill laughs and reaches over to shake Eugene’s hand. 

“Somethin’ like that.” Eugene snuggles in, putting most of his weight against Snafu. He gets an arm curled around his waist for his troubles and his heart lifts. 

They both seem thinner and paler than they were a week ago. The lack of food and sunlight is wearing on everyone at this point but it’s still alarming to see such changes in a short amount of time. Winter coats have finally been distributed, thick wool things that always smell like wet sheep but provide sorely needed insulation. Snafu and Bill are both wrapped as tightly as can be in said coats with a shared blanket draped over their legs.

“How’s the leg?” Bill hands him a mug of terrible coffee and Eugene takes it and passes it to Snafu so he can keep himself warm. 

“It’ll keep. They took some metal out of it and stitched me up. I figure I know how to keep an eye on it enough to let it heal out here and I know I can’t trust y’all to look after yourselves. Seemed smarter to come back out.” He knows that he’s being completely transparent and that they’ll see right through his excuse but he figures there are worse things than a fella’s friends knowing he missed them.

“We’re glad to have you back, Eugene.” Bill claps him on the shoulder. “If you’re here to keep him warm then I’m goin’ back to my old hole.” 

A few seconds after he climbs out, too quickly for Eugene to even greet Snafu properly, there’s a single gunshot and it’s close, too close. He hears someone scream “SNIPER!” followed by machine gun fire and his heart stops. He pushes himself up and scrambles out of the hole to find Bill squirming on the ground with blood pooling around his torso. He can hear Snafu clambering out behind him and they both rush to Bill’s side. 

This time Eugene’s training doesn’t fail him. He quickly locates the wound low on Bill’s ribcage and when he presses his ear to Bill's torso to listen he can tell it’s punctured a lung. He’s got sulfa and a long bandage out before he can even blink. “You’re alright, Bill. Everything’s gonna be fine.”

Snafu is kneeling up by Bill’s head, holding his shoulders still as Eugene pours the stinging sulfa onto his wound. “It ain’t shit Leyden, d’you hear me? It ain’t shit.” Bill gasps up at him in response, trying to pull in enough breath to inflate his busted lung.

Eugene can hear someone calling for a jeep as he gets the bandage on, providing pressure to try and stem the bleeding. He doesn't look up until he can hear the tires. “Snafu we need to get him up, let’s go.” Despite the screaming in his own leg, he and Snafu hoist Bill up. They meet the jeep and drape Bill over the hood. Before Eugene can say anything - you’ll be okay, you’re in good hands, goodbye - the jeep has taken off again and the first friend Eugene ever made in the Army is gone.

  


* * *

  


Morale seems to drop drastically after that. Eugene never realized what an impact Bill’s energy had on everyone. Without his joking, his bravado, and his swagger, everything around them seems a little more colorless than it did before. Even the replacements start keeping a little closer to the vets, seeking out wisdom and stability to comfort themselves.

Christmas doesn’t make anyone’s days any easier. For Eugene and a number of the others, it’s their first Christmas away from their families. Last year in basic training Eugene had gotten five days off around the holidays so he’d taken a train from Georgia back home to Mobile. This year he’s not sure he could imagine a place so different. 

At home Eugene, Father, Eddie, and Deacon would all go out into the woods a week or so before Christmas to find a tree. They’d take Father’s truck and an old hand saw and spend hours trying to decide which tree was suitable enough to come home as Deacon danced around their feet and chased birds. Once they’d cut it down and brought it home the family would decorate the tree with delicate ornaments and lots of tinsel. They’d go to church on Christmas Eve and wake up early on Christmas morning to open presents. The house would be filled with the smells and sounds of Rose and Mother cooking Christmas dinner, usually an enormous turkey served alongside biscuits, greens, and corn. They’d end the day with just the four of them spending time together in the parlor, warm and full and thankful. 

This year Eugene’s not even sure he’d know it was Christmas if it weren’t for the carols drifting hauntingly over from the German line. There’s no services, no special food, no joy or warmth. Eugene knows he’s not the only one struggling. Burgie seems to be having a difficult go of it and Jay keeps talking about the food his mother makes until they have to beg him to stop. 

Hamm asks Snafu what his family does during Christmas in an attempt to be friendly. 

Snafu snorts unpleasantly. “We’re Jews, Hamm. We don’t do Christmas.” Maybe it’s the stricken look on Hamm’s face or the fact that they all know how the replacements are struggling about Christmas but Snafu seems to take pity on him. “Mama used to make a special dinner for my daddy when he was still alive, things his mama made for him.” He shrugs. “Even if Mama'd want to do Christmas, we didn’t have shit. There wouldn’t have been presents anyway.” 

So Christmas passes without much fanfare and then the New Year. The guys grumble about not even getting liquor to celebrate the coming of 1945 but Eugene isn't much of a drinker and so he can’t bring himself to get that sore about it. 

In their foxhole under the bright moon and stars Eugene and Snafu ring in the New Year with a kiss and that suits Eugene more than any party ever could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They aren't out of the woods yet - both literally and figuratively. 
> 
> I hope you guys are enjoying reading this as much as I'm enjoying writing it. Next chapter will be up soon!
> 
> The chapter title is from Winter Song by Ingrid Michaelson and Sara Bareilles.


	6. Little Soldier, Little Insect, You Know War it Has No Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ardennes part 2.

The bombardments seem to intensify after the holidays pass. While Christmas hadn’t brought with it any sort of truce or ceasefire as it had in 1914, there was almost an understanding that a little human kindness was expected from both sides. But starting on January 2nd 1945, the war resumes with a fury that makes the previous weeks seem almost tame.

The Germans wield their artillery as psychological warfare. They wait just long enough between bombardments for the Americans to let their guard down, start to creep out from their foxholes and then they send their shells roaring overhead. It's a lesson in learned helplessness. 

Eugene counts his blessings that none of his friends are harmed in these attacks. The closest anyone gets is Jay.

It’s early morning before the sun has even begun to peek over the tops of the trees. Eugene is awake and watching his breath curl out of his mouth like cigarette smoke when he hears someone crunch by his hole. He pops his head out, careful not to wake Snafu, and sees Jay bustling toward the slit trench. “You good, Jay?”

“Gotta take a shit,” is Jay’s mumbled reply as he unbuttons his pants. 

“You’ve got a way with words,” he calls out and he laughs softly as Jay gives him the middle finger. Eugene settles back into his hole, smiling as Snafu curls up against him. He’s just starting to give some thought to the idea of going back to sleep when there’s a boom and a scream of “INCOMING!”

Eugene doubts he’ll ever get used to the feeling of sheer helplessness that comes with being bombed with only a hole and some branches for protection. There’s nothing he can do to keep himself safe other than hold on and pray and his lack of control over the situation makes him want to curl up in a ball and hide. Snafu wakes with a gasp as the first shell explodes and Eugene curls around him in some instinctual bid to keep him better protected. As he hears the cracking and shattering of trees and feels the ground pitch and vibrate underneath him, he hopes desperately that Jay finds someplace to shelter. 

It all seems to end just as suddenly as it began. The men start to poke their heads out of their holes to assess the damage. Shockingly there are no calls for a medic. Eugene and Snafu pull themselves up and out of the ground to see how everyone is doing. As they do Jay walks by them, shaking and holding his pants up in his fists. 

“You alright?” Eugene watches him, takes note of the hunched and jolting way he’s walking. He's not sure if Jay is hurt or not. Burgie walks over as well looking shaken but whole.

Jay glares at him. “I fucking shit myself.” Sure enough, the seat of his pants is darker than the rest of them. There’s silence for a moment before Eugene feels laughter start to bubble up from his stomach. Out of respect and affection for Jay he tries to keep it in, he really does. He splutters and chokes in his desperate attempt to keep the laughter in his throat. Then he makes eye contact with Burgie and Snafu, and the three of them dissolve into helpless laughter. Eugene can’t remember the last time he laughed like this - carefree and young. Apparently all he needed was for his buddy to shit his pants like a baby.

“Damn Jay,” snickers Burgie. “If it ain’t comin’ out your mouth it’s comin’ out your ass.” 

“At least you’re warm now,” chimes in Snafu. Eugene holds his stomach with the force of his laughter, wiping tears from his cheeks. The three of them don’t notice when Ack-Ack walks over to investigate but by the time they do they’ve laughed themselves so stupid they couldn’t salute even if they wanted to. 

Smiling at the mirth of his men, Ack-Ack tilts his head back toward CP. “Go and get yourself some clean dungarees, Jay.” The sight of Jay hobbling away sets all of them off again. The memory resurfaces repeatedly over the next few days and Eugene laughs about it every time he thinks of it. All he really has to do is make eye contact with Burgie or Snafu and they’re all lost. Even Jay comes around eventually and laughs at his own misfortune. But war is a robber of joy and their happiness only lasts so long before it’s clouded by misery once again.

  


* * *

  


A scream pierces the night and Eugene shoots up and out of his hole before he’s even fully awake. As he runs toward the noises of a man in distress, men pop their heads out of their foxholes. “Who the hell is that?” “Make him shut up!” “The Germans’ll hear him and then we’re all fucked!”

When he finds the source of the noise, Burgie, Hillbilly, and De L’Eau are all trying to wrestle a man back into his hole. Snafu is crouching nearby with his Thompson gun, ready to provide covering fire if he has to. “Somebody shut that fucker up,” he hisses, his eyes wide and furious and terrified.

The man is wailing loud enough to wake the whole forest. He’s trying to escape the three holding him down, his fingernails broken and bleeding from his attempts to scramble out of their grasp and out of his foxhole. Eugene jumps down into the hole with them. It’s cramped - most foxholes aren’t dug to house five soldiers. “What the hell’s goin’ on?” 

“He’s havin’ a nightmare.” Hillbilly grunts as the man’s elbow catches him in the stomach. “Give him some morphine!” 

Eugene starts to fumble in his bag for one of the precious syrettes. When he gets it out he tries to get to the man’s skin to inject him but the soldier punches him in the cheek. The force of it sends him staggering back but he sucks in a gasp of air to steady himself and gets himself up again. “Keep him still; I can’t get at him.”

The soldier screams and the hairs on the backs of Eugene’s arms rise. He’s never heard someone sound so terrified outside of battle. A flare goes off across the clearing and illuminates the world around them. The light is quickly followed by a few pops of a rifle from the German line. 

“Jesus Christ,” Hillbilly pants, trying to hold the man down. The soldier won’t settle, won’t calm, keeps fighting back. Eugene can’t even get close to him let alone inject him with morphine. Hillbilly pins the man’s arms and holds him down on the floor of the foxhole, but the soldier doesn't stop his thrashing. In his terror he's almost strong enough to buck Hillbilly off. “Hit him with somethin’!”

Jay is the one closest to the shovel. It's laying on the frozen ground nearby - the soldier must have used it to dig his foxhole. Jay grabs it and drags it into the hole with them. With all the strength of a man afraid for his life, he brings the blade down on the poor soldier’s head with a sickening, cracking thud. The night is immediately silent again. 

It takes less than a second for Eugene to know that the soldier is dead. He peers around and sees the gash on his forehead and the vacant expression in his eyes and he just knows bone deep that the man is gone. He feels unbearably sad that the soldier's last moments were a literal nightmare, filled with fear and confusion. The silence continues to drag on as they all stare at the body.

Snowy winter nights have a peculiar sort of silence, Eugene has found. It’s like the snow acts as a muffler for any noise around it while the freezing cold makes the air feel thin and as crisp as a fall apple. It seems as though any sound should travel for miles and echo back to whoever made it but at the same time like you can scream and scream and no one will hear you. In the snow in the woods, it can almost feel like no one has ever made a sound or ever will again. 

Several of these silent moments pass before Jay seems to realize what he’s done. With a low noise like a wounded animal De L’Eau drags himself up and out of the foxhole. He kneels on the frozen ground and curls himself downward so low his hair brushes the snow. His breathing turns into gut-wrenching sobs that make something frantic and paternal rise up in Eugene. He's never seen Jay cry like this. He's not sure he's ever seen a person cry like this.

Eugene starts for him and slides across the snow to reach him. “Hey, hey. Hey, you’re okay.” He puts his arm around Jay’s shoulders. “You’re okay.” Jay clutches to his forearm and he draws him in, pressing Jay’s head against his chest. He feels Jay’s fingers clutch at the arm of his jacket like a man would cling to a life raft if he were drowning. “You’re okay. You’ll be okay.” He’s the same age as Jay, a few months younger actually, but in that moment he feels one hundred years older. Jay is tiny and childlike in his arms. His hand curls into the greasy strands of Jay’s hair as he keeps his face pressed into Eugene’s chest.

He looks up helplessly at Burgie whose chin is quivering as he meets Eugene’s gaze. Snafu chews on the raw, cracked skin of his fingers and his eyes keep flitting to the body and then skittering away again. “It had to be done,” he murmurs, crossing his arms over his chest.

Hillbilly pulls himself out of the foxhole, breathing hard. He nods at Snafu and Burgie and the three of them drag the body out of the hole and lay it on the ground. Hillbilly takes off his coat and uses it to cover the ruined head of the dead soldier. Then he looks at Snafu and Burgie as he lights himself a cigarette with shaking, unsteady hands. “Get... get back to your holes.” His voice is hoarse and strained. He goes and crouches next to De L’Eau, adding his own comforting voice. “Come on Jay, let’s get you up.” He glances at Snafu. “Get someone to call a jeep on your way back.”

Hillbilly and Eugene guide Jay back to his foxhole. Jay is still weeping uncontrollably and every sob breaks Eugene’s heart. It seems to have the same impact on Hillbilly if the grief and guilt on his face is anything to go by. Eugene tugs Jay down and gets him sitting in the hole. Then he wraps an arm around Jay and holds onto him as tight as he can. 

They sit there for a while, Eugene cradling Jay against him while Hillbilly crouches on the edge of the hole and smokes one cigarette after another. He rolls the butts of his smokes into tiny balls and slips them into his pockets like he doesn't want to leave any litter behind. It's always confused Eugene. They can't do any more damage to the nature out here than they already have. What's a few cigarette butts compared to machine guns and mortars? 

Eugene doesn't hear the jeep pass by on its way to pick up the body, doesn't hear Burgie or Snafu come near. All he can hear is Jay's despondent, broken sobbing. 

Someone must debrief Ack-Ack on what happened because he comes over and sits on the edge of the foxhole, putting his broad hand on Hillbilly’s back. “You did the right thing,” he says, addressing them both. His voice is low and calm and gentle as it always is. He's seen Ack-Ack use that voice to comfort broken and dying men, but it doesn’t seem to do Hillbilly or Jay much good. Jay only sobs harder and Hillbilly maintains his stony, grief-stricken silence as he lights himself another cigarette. Ack-Ack looks to Eugene and they share a moment of heartbroken commiseration. "You got him, Doc?"

Eugene nods. "Yes sir, I got him." 

"Alright. Good." Ack-Ack nods before he gently helps Hillbilly to his feet, one hand on his back and the other gripping his hand. Eugene can hear the soft, soothing tone of his voice talking to Hillbilly as he leads him back toward CP. Hillbilly’s short, gasping breaths echo back to him on the sharp winter air. He must have been trying to keep himself together in front of Jay, but it's hard to keep a stiff upper lip in the face of Ack-Ack's comfort. Eugene stays by Jay’s side and rocks him gently until he finally falls into an exhausted slumber.

For the next few days Jay walks in a daze and alternates between seeming completely absent and breaking down into debilitating sobs. They’ve stopped rotating him onto the very front line altogether, keeping him instead in foxholes a little further back. Jay doesn’t seem to improve and his grief is impacting his sleep and his eating. He gets a little thinner with each day as he turns down each meal. Even when Eugene insists that he has to eat something, he can only stomach a few bites before he says he’s too full. After a few days of this Eugene knows he has to take action or risk losing his friend.

“Sir?” Eugene lingers at the edge of the CP tent, his icy fingers curling into the strap of his bag.

Ack-Ack turns to face him and in any other setting Eugene might have laughed. The captain is bundled up so only his eyes are showing. A big scarf is wrapped around his neck and the lower part of his face and a woollen cap is pulled down almost past his eyebrows. What little skin Eugene can see is as pale as everyone else’s and looks just as cold. This weather is tough even for a Massachusetts man he figures. Hillbilly looks even worse. He’s got layers over layers making his body look uncomfortably swollen and his nose is an alarming shade of red. His lips are almost blue and he’s shaking so much it looks like he’ll vibrate himself right out of his coat.

“Doc, what can I do for you?” Ack-Ack pours a cup of black coffee into a mug and passes it over. Eugene has never been much of a fan of coffee but holding the hot tin in his hands is a little bit like heaven. He lets the warmth prickle and sting as feeling comes back into his aching hands. He takes a sip to try and warm his insides and can’t help but wrinkle his nose at the taste. Hillbilly snorts out a laugh at him. 

He turns back to Ack-Ack. “Sir, I was wondering if you could make De L’Eau your runner for a spell. He’s havin’ a hard time since he… since the other night and I think he could use a little time off the line. He’ll never agree to it unless it’s an order from you.”

Whatever mirth had been on Hillbilly’s face a moment ago is gone now, replaced by a guilt-stricken look. “Is he alright?” The concern in his voice is thick and touching. He knows Hillbilly is grieved about what happened. He’s sure Hillbilly is suffering for ordering someone to hit the soldier and for the fact that it was Jay who had to do it, even if it was their only choice. Eugene fully believes that it was. If they hadn’t silenced that man one way or another the Germans would have zeroed in on their position in a heartbeat and sent artillery raining down on them.

“He ain’t sleepin’ well, he doesn’t eat. He cries sometimes. He just… I think he needs a change in routine, to not be on high alert every minute.”

Ack-Ack’s eyes look old and tired. Eugene knows he’s young still, maybe just over thirty, but in that moment Ack-Ack’s eyes are worn enough to look like an old man’s. “I can do that. Is he a danger to himself or to others in the meantime?”

“No sir, not at all. He just needs a break.” The heat from the coffee is rapidly dissipating and Eugene starts to shift his weight from foot to foot to keep warm. “They all do, but him in particular.”

“Alright. Send him back here, tell him I asked for him specifically.” Eugene feels relief flood him. Jay could easily brush off a suggestion to get off the line for a while but an order from Ack-Ack is nearly impossible to ignore. They all want to do him proud and Eugene doesn't know of a man who wouldn't move heaven and earth to follow Ack-Ack's orders. 

“I will sir, thank you.” Eugene smiles at both of them and goes off to find Jay.

Jay puts up surprisingly little resistance to being pulled off the line. The guys all know it’s what’s best for him and they wholeheartedly support his new appointment. 

“It’s a good gig Jay,” Burgie says with a warm smile. “I wish Ack-Ack liked me half as much.” 

“Who’d want to be around your ugly mug all day, Burgin?” Snafu throws an arm around Jay’s shoulder. “If you find any chocolate, smuggle some back for us. Or cigarettes.” Jay smiles weakly in return and walks off toward CP. It isn’t as though they’ll never see him or he's going away forever but loss still stings at Eugene’s throat. They’d come into Belgium as a team, unbreakable and strong. With Bill and Jay both gone it suddenly seems too quiet. Snafu and Eugene expand their foxhole and Burgie moves in with them. They keep each other close from that point on.

  


* * *

  


The siege continues, wearing all of them thin. Each day a few more soldiers are killed or wounded badly enough to get them evacuated and mealtimes become more and more depressing as their numbers dwindle. 

The next bombardment takes out six men in one fell swoop. When they all dare to poke their heads out of their holes the snow is stained with blood and littered with limbs. The air is split with screams and begging and desperate cries for mothers. Even Eugene is stunned at first, unsure where to go first or if he can even help. 

The moment seems to be the breaking point for Peck, their drafted replacement. He pulls himself out of the hole and staggers toward the German line, firing his rifle. “Just kill me already!” There’s something off about the way he’s moving, sluggish and lazy. When he fires his gun, he recoils like his muscles aren’t working quite right. But even with his slow speed it takes everyone a moment to register what the hell is happening.

“Get him the fuck out of there, goddamnit!” That’s Burgie’s voice and he sounds livid as the dirt around Peck starts to kick up with bullets. 

Eugene tries to get to him, sure that there’s something wrong with him but Snafu yanks him back against his chest and won’t let him free. Hamm climbs out of the foxhole as well and runs to where Peck is firing. He grabs the back of his wool coat and pulls Peck to the ground where he just lays in some kind of daze. He starts to drag Peck back and he’s almost made it, he’s just pushed Peck back into the hole, when he turns to look behind him and the crack of a rifle rings out. Hamm collapses backward with his head dangling into the foxhole, his eyes open and staring into an abyss the rest of them can’t see. Blood flows from his mouth down toward his forehead and Eugene has the insane momentary urge to wipe it away before it floods into his eyes. 

Eugene races to the foxhole before anyone can even call for a medic and leaps in. Hamm is beyond Eugene’s care and firmly with the Lord so he turns to Peck. Peck’s eyes are vacant and hollow, and he’s breathing but doesn’t seem to be aware of what’s happening around him. He seems like he’s a million miles away, maybe wherever Kathy is or wherever home might be. Eugene realizes he’s never asked. He kneels above Peck and slaps at his cheeks to try and get him to focus. His reactions are still glacially slow. Eugene looks for a head wound, sets his fingers to probing through Peck’s hair to try and find a bump or a wound that would explain his behavior but there’s nothing there but sweaty scalp and unwashed hair. He’s at a loss. 

It’s a gut instinct that tells him to start looking through Peck’s pockets. In his jacket’s left pocket Eugene finds an empty syrette of morphine. A wave of anger rushes through him, hot and prickly. That morphine is more precious than gold out on the line. It can stop soldiers from going into shock and dying of fear and pain and Peck took it away from a soldier who might have needed it. He takes a deep breath through his nose. He knows he’s being unfair. He knows that a lot of men can’t handle what they see out here, what they’re asked to do. He can’t blame Peck for wanting to get away. But he can blame Peck for wasting morphine and he can blame him for Hamm’s death, and he does. 

Hate floods his body like flames. He’s been taught not to hate, to be forgiving and kind to others. It’s the Christian way. But in that moment, Eugene hates this selfish, stupid idiot more than he hates the Germans. He wants to hit Peck in the face, feel his nose break under his knuckles. But he just shoves Peck away from him and stands up. “He’s been takin’ morphine. Get him the fuck out of here.” 

Eugene feels like there’s sand in his eyes as he rubs them with exhaustion. He climbs out of the hole and walks back away from the line. He hears footsteps jogging after him and turns around to see Snafu. 

“Gene…” 

“That stupid, stupid idiot!” Eugene takes off his helmet and hurls it to the ground as hard as he can. He kicks it and lets out a cry of frustration as pain lances up his foot. Snafu comes up behind him and wraps his arms around him. 

“He just wasn’t made for this.” Snafu’s voice is gentle and Eugene can’t understand for the life of him why Snafu is suddenly defending the replacements, especially this one who he’d bullied more than anyone. 

“None of us are made for this!” Eugene pulls free from Snafu’s embrace, wild in his anger. “No one is made for this fuckin’ place! None of us are made for this war, for killin’ and dyin’ just because some fat general a world away tells us to! We’re all civilians for fuck’s sake.” 

Snafu looks tired and worn. “You’re right.” His voice sounds ancient and Eugene feels suddenly ashamed for lashing out at him. “But we’re here. We’re all doin’ the best we can.”

Eugene snorts. “Yeah and now Hamm’s dead because of Peck’s ‘best’.” He grabs his helmet and walks away. He doesn’t have a destination in mind, he just needs to put as much space between him and Hamm’s foxhole-grave as possible. Snafu lets him go. 

At the end of January K35 is pulled out of the Ardennes. The campaign is apparently an American victory but it feels like a waste to Eugene in a way that the war hardly has so far. They’ve gained no ground, won no battles. They’ve just lost a lot of good, dedicated young men in snowy woods just so they can say they stayed in one spot successfully. As they all load up into the deuce and a half trucks Eugene is left with a bitter taste in his mouth that almost tastes like blood.

Snafu takes the seat next to him and Eugene presses their shoulders together as the trucks start to rumble away from the miserable wasteland that’s been their home for the past month and a half. They hold hands between them, tucked away and hidden by their thighs and coattails. Eugene watches the forest fade into the distance and says a silent prayer for the men who will never leave it.

  


* * *

  


They move out of Belgium and back into France. The deep, insulating snow of the Ardennes becomes the ugly gray slush of eastern France. It’s infinitely less beautiful but their misery is somewhat less as well. Eugene wonders if the two always go together, beauty and misery, and he’s just been too naive to see it. 

They settle in a town called Haguenau. The town was probably charming before the war in the way that all French villages seem to be but war has turned it ugly and broken as it does to all things. The Germans are stationed just on the other side of a narrow, muddy river and they trade bombs like shuttlecocks over a net during a warm summer. No one lingers outside for long but they all become accustomed to the sound of bombs whistling overhead and exploding nearby. 

It’s not all bad. For the first time in far too long the soldiers get hot showers. The officers are kind enough to let them stand under the water for as long as they like and they get as much soap as they need. By the time Eugene manages to drag himself away, his skin is as pink as a sunburn from the heat and his overeager scrubbing. They all get clean ODs and boots without holes when they’re done. It’s like the Army is extending an olive branch. It’s too little too late. 

Eugene’s platoon is set up in the attic of an old storefront. Burgie has a single bed tucked up under the window, and Eugene and Snafu share bunk beds. Snafu, of course, claims the top bunk immediately. Jay rejoins them here, and they set up another bed for him in the middle of the room. They put him here partly because of the lack of room available to them, but this way he’s also in a place where they can all keep eyes on him. He seems better, more himself, but the idea of him having to leave them again is unacceptable and they’re all determined not to let it happen. 

For the first time in a long time Eugene and Snafu are able to spend intimate time with one another. Haguenau has lots of ruined little nooks and corners for them to hide themselves in. It's also the first time that Snafu has had to see the long, ugly, still-healing scar on Eugene's thigh. 

Logically he knows that one mark won't change how Snafu feels about him or looks at him. But he finds himself doing just about everything possible to keep from pulling his pants down low enough to expose the scar. He's afraid that it'll be the flaw that finally makes Snafu call it quits, the straw that breaks the proverbial back of their relationship. 

They've been in Haguenau for almost a week when Snafu ambushes Eugene by pulling him into an abandoned cottage off a side road. The building is unusable to the military - parts of the second floor have collapsed into the first - so it's empty. It still has its doors and windows and it offers quite a bit of privacy to two soldiers trying to steal a little time together. 

Snafu slams the door shut behind him and stands with his hands on his hips as he watches Eugene steady himself. "Pants off."

"I know we're not exactly going steady but a little wooin' might be nice," Eugene grouses as he scowls at Snafu. 

"I'm not trying to woo you, dumbass. I'm trying to get your pants off." Snafu smirks a little as Eugene rolls his eyes and moves his hands to his belt. "I want to see your leg."

Eugene's hands freeze. "What?" This is not the way he imagined this conversation going. He didn't imagine there'd be much conversation at all. 

"I know you've been hidin' your leg from me. Let's just get this over with. Let me see." 

Eugene is embarrassed by the way his hands go clammy against the buckle of his belt. "I'm not hidin' it from you." It's a blatant lie and Eugene is sure that Snafu knows it. 

"Eugene." Snafu sighs and takes a step closer to him. "I don't care what your fuckin' leg looks like. But I know it's botherin' you so let's just get this over with." 

The man has a point. If he shows Snafu now then it'll be over and he won't have to worry about it anymore. He takes a deep breath and undoes his trousers. It feels foolish to push them down to his knees but he does it. The intensity of Snafu's gaze causes Eugene to blush as he stands there, pants around his knees and his stark white legs visible to God and the world.

Snafu's eyes snap to the scar immediately. He takes a few steps closer and kneels down in front of Eugene. Eugene thinks this is the only time that Snafu will ever go to his knees in front of him and it doesn't turn him on. He stands silent as Snafu reaches out and traces the mark with his fingertips. "Does it hurt?"

"Sometimes it twinges but normally I don't even think about it. Ugly though, isn't it?" 

"No." Snafu's voice is quiet but firm. "Eugene it ain't bad." He tilts his head up to look at Eugene and softens at the trepidation he sees there. "It looks like it hurt but it ain't gonna put me off of you." He stands again and Eugene expects himself to be kissed until he forgets but instead Snafu just pulls him into a tight hug. "I'm just glad you're alright."

Eugene hugs back tightly with a lump in his throat. "Me too."

  


* * *

  


They’re stationed in Haguenau when Eugene gets a letter from his father that breaks his heart into dust. It’s worded gently and kindly to try and soften the blow but Eugene’s voice still breaks when he tells Snafu: “My dog died.”

He weeps like a child and feels ridiculous to be mourning a dog when he watches men die every day, sometimes even under his own care. But Deacon was a good dog. For eight years Eugene never needed to be alone if he didn’t want to be. He had Deacon at his heels every day and sleeping at the foot of his bed every night. He had ears like velvet and Eugene is never going to be able to touch them again. He has to take part in a war knowing that he’ll never see his dog’s grinning, dopey face again. He can’t remember the last time he really appreciated Deacon’s companionship, whether he told Deacon what a good boy he was or gave him an extra hug before he left. He wonders if Deacon wondered where he was at the end, if he felt betrayed that Eugene wasn’t there. 

He cries so hard he can’t breathe and as he gasps for air the breaths get tangled and caught in his lungs. Snafu sits next to him and rubs his back until Eugene settles enough to realize how badly his head hurts and how dry his eyes feel. 

Snafu puts his chin on Eugene’s shoulder. “How old was he?” 

“I got him as a pup nine, maybe ten years ago.” Eugene wipes his eyes with the heels of his hands. He must miss a tear because Snafu strokes his finger across Eugene’s cheek. 

“I heard that dogs live seven years for every one of ours. Seventy ain’t so bad. And I know you loved him enough to give him a real nice life.” Snafu rests his forehead against Eugene’s temple and Eugene presses his head into the touch. He knows this is hard for Snafu. Talking about feelings and providing comfort aren’t his strong suits. But it means the world to him that Snafu is trying.

  


* * *

  


Although they fight less in Haguenau than they had in the Ardennes there’s still skirmishes. Occasionally the Germans and the Americans will fire at each other from across the river. Eugene, of course, doesn’t take part but he stays nearby for when he’s needed. 

Despite real beds and hot showers the soldiers move like empty hulls rather than men. It’s as though all of their energy, pride, and will were deserted back in the Ardennes and they didn’t have time to gather them before they moved on again. Eugene isn’t convinced that any of them will ever be able to return to the men they were before the forest.

On one particular afternoon he stands behind Snafu and watches the fighting. They're standing at the edge of the river and the riflemen shoot across from the bank at any moving target while the machine guns and mortars up on the roof take aim and mow down anything in their sight. Eugene is likely too close to the action but no one orders him back so he stays. He watches as Snafu shoots a German and he watches as the man drops like a sack of potatoes. Snafu continues to shoot at the still body, once, twice, three times. Eugene knows he should feel something about that. Horror maybe or sympathy for the German or for Snafu’s seemingly tenuous grip on sanity. But he seems to be detached from his emotions almost entirely and he feels very little at all.

They don’t stay in Haguenau for long. Eugene feels like he hasn’t even caught his breath before they’re ordered to start marching again. Sitting in the back of the deuce and a half truck as it bumps and rattles out of the town, all he can hope is that their next stop will be somewhere with even a small degree of peace and relaxation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little shorter than the others but I'm happy with it. I actually might be sadder for what I did to Jay than I have been anyone else so far.
> 
> The title is from No One Would Riot For Less by Bright Eyes.


	7. He Cries Out to God or Just No One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> K35 arrives in Landsberg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the only chapter that I'm intending to write from a POV that's not Eugene's. I've always found that there's not enough stories about liberating concentration camps told by Jewish GIs. So this chapter is told through Snafu's eyes. 
> 
> I tried not to get too graphic, but please be aware that there are some descriptions of the Holocaust in this chapter. Please be kind to yourself.
> 
> There should be hover-translations if I coded correctly. For those on phones, translations are also available at the end of the chapter. Any mistakes are due to the fact that I am, sadly, not fluent in Yiddish.

The push into Germany is exhilarating at first. Snafu has been at war for almost three years and finally, finally they’ve pushed the enemy back far enough that they’re crossing into their home turf. Everyone seems almost giddy with relief and confidence as they push and chase the Germans into Bavaria (Hitler's own playground and the birthplace of the Nazi party) and to a town called Landsberg. 

The officers sweep through the town first and station the men in a number of large, luxurious residences. Burgie’s platoon gets billeted in a house bigger than any Snafu has ever seen before. It’s a few streets down from the main thoroughfare that they’d just marched through but still close enough to make the residents feel like they’re in the midst of things. The owner is a woman maybe in her forties and her two brats. The kids whine as the soldiers approach the house but the woman shushes them and barks something out in German. The children pick up their luggage and the three leave the premises, glaring at the soldiers all the while. Snafu gives them his coldest smile as they pass, the one he knows doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s more a show of bared teeth than anything. 

The group stomps up the front steps and through the large wooden door. Snafu whistles as he walks in the door, looking up at the high ceilings and fine furnishings. “You’d never even know there’s a fuckin’ war on.” 

“I guess that’s what you get for livin’ in Hitler’s favorite place,” comments Burgie as he picks up an intricate silver candlestick. Jay is folding up a huge swastika flag to take home with him. He puts it in his bag with a grin on his face.

Snafu glances over at Eugene. He’s looking intently at the pictures hanging up on the wall in the front hall and he hums a little. “Come look at this.” 

Dutifully, Snafu makes his way over to stand behind Eugene. His eyebrows raise. There’s a high-quality photograph of a German officer right in the middle of the wall in a place of pride. He’s severe-looking with a straight, pointed nose and tight, thin lips. Maybe it’s just Snafu’s imagination but there’s something unsettlingly cruel in his eyes that makes the hair on Snafu’s arms stand straight. “He’s fuckin’ SS.” Sure enough there’s two lightning bolt ‘S’s on his lapel.

“Well shit,” says Burgie. “In that case take anything you want.” He starts rifling through drawers and pilfering things he finds interesting. Snafu laughs and starts happily searching through another drawer. He finds an engraved pocket knife that looks like it’s made out of bone or antlers or something. It’s got some initials carved into it along with the year 1940. Snafu slips it into one of the cargo pockets on his trousers and pats the outside of his pocket in satisfaction.

“Where’ll we sleep Burg?” Eugene turns away from the photo but he doesn’t seem interested in looting like the others. He almost never takes anything when the rest of them are looting. 

Burgie seems to remember that he’s supposed to be in charge and he looks around for a moment as though someone will pop out to provide him with a blueprint of the house. “Pick a room I guess. Should be plenty big enough for all of us.” 

Snafu and Eugene trade a significant glance and then suddenly they’re racing each other up the sweeping staircase. Laughing, they burst through several doors trying to find the perfect place. Snafu opens the door to what must be the master bedroom and he almost starts salivating when his eyes land on a huge feather bed. It’s been so long since they’ve been in a soft bed and Snafu’s not sure he’s never even seen one this big let alone been in one. The first time he fucked Eugene he’d felt bad about the fact that they didn’t have a nice big bed to do it in like he deserved. All he can think of now is pushing Eugene down into the plush blankets and making him come undone in warmth and comfort. 

He hears Eugene come up behind him. “No.”

“What?” Snafu’s head snaps around to stare at him. He can hear the high pitch of his own voice but he’s too shocked to do anything about it. “Sledge, do you see that bed?”

“I see there’s only one of ‘em. People’ll talk.”

“You know Burgie ‘n’ Jay already know,” Snafu whines. He wants this bed bad and he’s willing to humiliate himself just a little to get it. 

Eugene glares at him. “Maybe they do and maybe they don’t but we don’t need anyone else to know. You can stay here if you want but I’ll be stayin’ somewhere else.”

Snafu loves this man soul-deep but in this moment he hates him just a little. “Alright, alright.” They keep looking (although Snafu does so with considerably less enthusiasm than before) until they find a nice small bedroom with two beds on opposite walls. The room is likely meant for household staff but it’s private and cozy. Snafu throws his shit on the floor next to the bed closest to the window and flops down on it. “This suit you better?” He knows he sounds petulant and spoiled but he doesn’t mind much.

Laughing, Eugene shuts and locks the door behind him. A little thrill goes down Snafu’s spine when he sees the possessive gleam in Eugene’s eyes. “Yeah I guess it does.” Eugene sets his things on the other bed and comes over to Snafu’s. He climbs on, putting his knees on either side of Snafu’s legs and sitting down in his lap. Snafu runs his hands up Eugene’s thighs letting his fingertips dance over the indent on Eugene's leg where the thick scar from the Ardennes mars his skin. “We’ve never done this in a bed.”

“No I s’pose not. Works pretty much the same.” Snafu grins and Eugene pushes him back so he’s lying comfortably on the mattress. Then he grabs his wrists and pins his hands up by his head. 

“I’d like to test that out for myself I think.” Snafu could get drunk on the way Eugene is grinning as he looks down at him. This smile should be the only expression that Eugene ever wears.

“Be my guest.” His voice has moved from petulant to unbearably smug. Eugene bends down to kiss him, slow and lazy in a way they haven’t been able to do… ever, really. They have to fight to keep themselves quiet but the luxury of being able to take their time with each other is heavenly.

Quite some time later Snafu is lying mostly-naked on the bed with cigarette smoke curling upwards toward the ceiling. The window beside his bed is open and a cool breeze is blowing in. It’s spring, although barely, and the freshness of the air is worth the chill. Eugene is sitting down with Snafu’s legs draped over his knees and he’s puffing away at his own pipe as he lets his fingernails gently scrape over his shins. 

Eugene looks different from the first time Snafu saw him. The first time he’d come into that English cottage they were billeted in all Snafu had been able to think was ‘they’re lettin’ kids enlist now?’. Eugene had seemed so impossibly young and bare-faced, all full of optimism and belief that they were going to help win the war. Snafu had liked his looks from the get go, of course. He’d liked his hair that only turned really red in the sun like it was shy. He’d liked his delicate little bones and the freckles on his nose. He’d really liked his big, broad hands with long fingers. But Snafu hadn’t liked him as a person, a soldier, a friend until he’d started getting mouthy and standing up for himself. Snafu likes a little spice. 

These days Eugene looks like a man. He’s still skinny and red-haired and fine-boned but his shoulders are broader and he carries himself with more confidence. He’s got stubble on his face that rasps against Snafu’s skin when they kiss or fuck. Snafu’ll never admit it under pain of torture but he likes that fuckin’ pipe too. It makes Eugene look masculine and sophisticated and he frankly just likes watching Eugene put things into his mouth.

Snafu watches him and feels golden with all the love he has inside of him. He hasn’t said it yet, doesn’t think he can. He’s never been one for big dramatic gestures or declarations. They make him too vulnerable and leave him too exposed. So he finds other ways to tell him. “If we make it home you should come to New Orleans to meet my mama sometime.” He keeps his voice casual but his eyes are razor sharp as they look at Eugene’s expression in case he’s overstepped. 

Eugene coughs on a lungful of smoke and looks over at Snafu in surprise. “What, really?”

Uncertainty unfurls in Snafu’s mind and he feels his shoulders hunch in anticipation of rejection. “Don’t see why not, if you want to. She’d like havin’ you.” 

Smiling bright and beautiful, Eugene nods at him. “I’d like that.” He leans over to kiss Snafu and Snafu sits up halfway to meet him. 

It doesn’t escape Snafu’s notice that Eugene doesn’t suggest that Snafu come visit him in Mobile and meet his folks but Snafu understands. He knows Eugene’s family likely wants him to settle down with some little blonde socialite with a good bloodline, get a boring ass job, knock up his wife a few times. They certainly wouldn’t want him showing up with a dark-skinned Jewish swamp rat with a limited high school education. But he figures he doesn’t have to worry about that now. There’s no guarantee he’ll even live out the war. Odds are pretty good he’ll get killed sooner rather than later.

After another good long while necking like teenagers, Snafu announces he’s gotta take a piss. The bathroom is right next to the bedroom but luckily the room is tucked away enough that there shouldn’t be too many people trying to use it. Snafu walks in and raises his eyebrows as he takes it all in. There’s more marble here than Snafu thought one person could have. The floors are marble, the sinks, there’s even marble on the walls. There’s a real, working toilet (Snafu could cry he’s so happy) and a big claw foot tub that Snafu thinks his whole platoon might be able to fit into. 

As he relieves his bladder Snafu thinks that maybe he likes Germany more than he thought he would. 

  


* * *

  


There’s not much to do in Landsberg. K35 is mostly just awaiting orders and the free time they all get is unexpected and beautiful. He gets to spend some time alone for the first time since 1942 and even though he loves spending time with his buddies it’s really nice to have some peace and quiet. 

There’s something off about the town though. No one else seems to notice it but when the wind blows a certain way there’s something sickly about the air. It doesn’t smell like the bayou used to, all damp earth and algae, but it’s definitely not a good smell. Nobody else mentions it so Snafu keeps himself to himself and just tries to take advantage of the fact that he’s able to walk without marching. 

Snafu is walking through Landsberg enjoying the blessing of free time when things suddenly start to get busy in a way that rarely signals anything good. Ack-Ack and Hillbilly rush by to a jeep and Burgie’s not far behind them. He looks pale and sick and he grips Snafu’s shoulder bruisingly in a way that worries him. “C’mon, we gotta go. Bring food and any water you got.”

Snafu and Burgie are on the next truck out, each weighed down with bread and canteens of water. The truck speeds to a barbed wire fence and squeals to a halt. Burgie taps Snafu on the leg and the two jump out and make their way to the large open gates. 

The smell is unbelievable and it takes maybe three inhales before his eyes are watering. Snafu walks by soldiers with scarves or bandanas over their mouths and noses and he envies them. It’s the smell of fire and ash, waste and sickness, and overwhelmingly of death. Burgie coughs beside him, covering his own mouth with a fist like he’s trying to keep from puking.

Inside the camp is unlike anything Snafu has ever seen before. Barracks half-built into the ground line the dirt road that runs through the camp. Some of them are burnt and smoldering and Snafu doesn’t look because he knows he doesn’t want to see what lies in the ash. People are dragging, literally dragging themselves toward the soldiers. They’re people who are walking bones that limp their way ever closer like something out of a nightmare. They’re all eyes and noses and ears, ribs and hips and no softness at all.

Snafu isn’t sure anyone else notices or knows what they’re seeing but his eyes are drawn to the yellow stars on most of their uniforms and all of his limbs lose feeling at once. Burgie, strong and loyal, catches his arms before he falls to the ground. That star has been known to Snafu his whole life. It’s the star of his mother’s people, HIS people, of an ancient king who led those people into glorious prosperity. These tortured forms are his people as well, they have to be. He can feel a scream brewing in his lungs like a terrible storm and he’s afraid if he opens his mouth he will never stop.

He pulls out of Burgie’s grasp and walks forward in a daze, passing Jay who’s being hugged tightly by a prisoner, both of them weeping openly. Jay, who has already seen and done the worst war could have thrown at him. Jay, who’s barely 22 and more like a little brother to Snafu than anyone he’s ever met. Snafu wishes he could have shielded Jay from this hurt but he also wants to make every single person on the planet stare at it until they understand even a fraction of what’s happened here and what he’s feeling.

A man with an unlined face but unspeakably ancient eyes walks up to Snafu and grips his forearms. It’s hard to tell if he’s 19 or 100 but Snafu would hazard a guess toward the former. He can see the ghost of innocence recently slaughtered in his dark eyes. His hair is shorn unevenly and the places where hair has begun to grow show dull brown hair. His nose is prominent with a bump down the middle and Snafu can imagine it being charming on a healthy face. "Adank, teyere fraynd.” The man’s voice is hoarse as though he hasn’t spoken in an age and his grip is so weak. 

Snafu moves his grip and holds his hands gently in his own. “Meyn namen iz Merriell. Vos iz deyn nomen?”

The man’s eyes go very wide at hearing his language come from the tongue of an American GI and tears fill his eyes. He leans forward and kisses Snafu’s forehead with cracked lips and Snafu squeezes his eyes shut, dislodging a few tears. When the man pulls back, he’s smiling a jack-o-lantern smile filled with missing and neglected teeth. It’s a beautiful smile, better than any film star’s. “Mosche Ginzburg. Meyn namen iz Mosche Ginzburg.” The tone of his voice gives Snafu the impression that no one has asked his name in a very long time.

“Ikh bin tsufridn tsu trefn ir, Mosche.” Snafu smiles back but he can feel it tremble on his face.

When Snafu looks up he sees Ack-Ack watching him. The captain is paler than Snafu has ever seen him, even more than when they were half-buried in snow in the Ardennes. Eugene stands over his shoulder looking agonized and drawn but Snafu finds he can’t meet his eyes for too long. He doesn’t want Eugene to see his fury or his devastation, to see and despise these new broken parts of him where his faith in humanity used to reside.

“Do you speak the language, Shelton?” Ack-Ack sounds a little surprised. They all know he speaks Cajun French - he cusses other soldiers out in it all the time - but he’s never spoken Yiddish to anyone. 

Snafu nods, his hands still holding Mosche’s. He doesn’t want to let him go, afraid he’ll blow away on the next breeze and be lost forever. “Yes, sir.”

Ack-Ack’s eyes are sorrowful and apologetic as he watches him. “I need you to act as a translator for me.” His voice is gentle as though he’s talking to a frightened child or cornered animal. Snafu feels his hackles rise at the gentle treatment but he knows Ack-Ack and trusts that his kindness does not imply Snafu’s weakness. Snafu nods woodenly. 

Snafu first asks Mosche’s permission to ask him questions and the young man hesitantly agrees. He’s looking at the broad, authoritative figure of Ack-Ack warily and Snafu quietly reassures him that Ack-Ack is one of the good guys, that he wants to help.

“I need to know what the hell happened here.” Ack-Ack’s voice is tight but controlled though his expression flickers from grieving to disgusted before it settles back into something neutral. 

As Snafu starts to answer for Mosche, his teeth clench as he unravels a story of hunger and cruelty and the lean, lurking figure of death. He can feel his grief etch itself onto his face and when his eyes flicker to meet Eugene’s the other man averts his gaze.

Everywhere Snafu looks he sees people in such desperate need of care that he isn’t sure anyone can do anything to even begin to ease their suffering. Some men are wailing on their knees in agony, finally allowing themselves to think of what they’ve lost. Some of the prisoners have the bodies of children, but their faces are ancient in exhaustion and firsthand knowledge of the very worst of any creature in existence. Some prisoners embrace the soldiers who make their way through the camp in stunned disbelief, others see the guns at their sides and cower or snarl. 

Snafu stays close to Mosche during his time in the camp. He gives him a blanket and some water and wishes there were more he could do to make him comfortable. Medics and surgeons begin to flood the camp and Snafu watches as they take the food from the hands of the rescued to save them from themselves. He watches as the freed are herded back inside the camp and the gate is closed again. When he turns back to Mosche, he finds him weeping into the blanket Snafu has wrapped around his shoulders. His words are lost. He can’t think of how to explain to Mosche that they don’t want to hurt them even as they trap them back in their prison. 

Ack-Ack orders Snafu to return home after two hours spent inside the camp. “You look worn out, son.” He puts his hand on the side of Snafu’s bicep and gently pats him a few times. His voice is soft and kind and concern is etched into the fine lines around his mouth and by his eyes. “Go back, get some sleep. That’s an order.”

He doesn’t want to leave. He’s a bridge between these people and the world outside and he feels that he owes it to them to stay, to finally suffer alongside them as their kin. Somehow, just by the accident of where he was born, this suffering didn’t happen to him. How can he decide that what little he’s seen is suffering enough? What right does he have to turn his face away when they’ve lived through this and he hasn't? He doesn’t want to leave Mosche, the young man who could have been Snafu in another world. 

When he tries to explain to Mosche that he’s being told to leave, that he doesn’t want to go, his tongue twists and trips in his mouth. Mosche’s eyes are soft and forgiving as he takes Snafu’s cheeks in his withered hands. “Mnukh, Merriell. Ir’ve getan genug.” His bony thumbs wipe away tears Snafu didn’t know he was crying.

Snafu snaps off one of his dogtags and presses it into Mosche’s hand. It’s reckless and short-sighted and he knows his mother will kill him if he dies and can’t be identified or retrieved, but it feels right. “Dem veg ir kenen gefinen mir shpeter.” Mosche smiles his beautiful smile again and does Snafu the favor of being the first to turn away. He staggers slowly back to the bunk where his body has lived while his soul has been tormented.

As he turns to leave, Burgie catches him by the shoulder and pulls him into a rough hug. Snafu struggles at first and tries to push him away but before long he slumps into the embrace. He’s never felt so low in his life and the gentle easy comfort that Burgie is giving him is something he finds he doesn’t want to turn away. When he finally pulls back, Burgie’s blue eyes are damp and ringed in red. “Tell Sledgehammer I went back to the house if he asks.” 

Snafu returns to the house where he’s quartered in a daze. As soon as he opens the door, his eyes catch on all of the fine furnishings in the house and an unspeakable fury rips through him like nothing he’s ever felt before. How many of these things were bought with the blood of his people or looted from their homes? How many neighbors vanished from this town unacknowledged?

Next to the front door is a delicate-looking table. It’s old and finely made, so much so that even Snafu can tell it’s worth something. It’s the first thing to face Snafu’s wrath. He picks it up over his head by the legs and slams it onto the floor, shivering in satisfaction as it splinters and pieces of it skitter across the floor. 

Anything glass becomes wreckage under his hands. He takes out his Ka-Bar knife and slashes every painting he can find artlessly to ribbons in their frames. He breaks open picture frames and tears the family pictures into tiny snowflakes that dust the floors of the rooms where they once sat on display. He takes particular care to ruin the photograph of the SS soldier. He slams it to the ground and uses the broken shards of glass to rip the photo to unidentifiable scraps of paper. The glittering pieces of glass slice his hands and he smears his Jewish blood on the walls, on the upholstered furniture, and on the railings by the stairs as he makes his way through each room. He creates lewd drawings upon remaining family pictures with it.

In the master bedroom he uses his dirty blood to draw the same Star of David on the wall above the bed that these monsters have forced his brethren to wear on their chests. The Star was never meant to be a symbol of shame. It was supposed to make a Jewish person feel pride, a part of a community. Snafu wonders if it’ll ever feel like that again or if it will always feel like a target from now on, a beacon that screams ‘I’m different!’ to thousands of hateful eyes.

No room is left untouched with the exception of the rooms where soldiers’ bunks are set up. They don’t deserve this rage. 

When his anger is finally spent he drags himself to the opulent bathroom and takes the hottest shower he can stand. He scrubs at himself with the family’s expensive soap until he’s red and raw, desperate to get the smell of the camp off of his skin and out of his hair. He even drags his fingernails down the soap to try and get his nail beds clean again. Even after twenty minutes in the scorching water the stench is still in his nose. The water runs red with the blood from his cut hands. Both hands have little scrapes on the palms from the glass but his right hand has a large gash from where he’d held the large shard of glass like a knife used to shred and destroy. 

Wet and shivering, he pulls on his underwear before he moves himself to the bedroom that he was so excited to share with Eugene just hours ago. He’d pictured them fucking again on the soft feather beds and he supposes doing so would spite the family even more, but he doesn’t want to turn what he has with Eugene into some sort of revenge. He takes a towel he’d brought with him from the bathroom and wraps it around his freely bleeding hand but he finds he doesn’t have the energy for anything more. He hauls himself to the bed underneath the window and curls up on top of the blankets, facing the wall.

Finally, he cries. He sobs and gasps for what’s been happening here under the nose of the world for God only knows how long. How many people could have survived that sort of torture? How many women, how many children? How many lives have evaporated into dust while the rest of the world turned a blind eye?

Over time, his weeping quiets into a steady, hiccuping stream of tears. The room is dark and cold and his skin is covered with goosebumps. It’s well into the evening by the time the front door opens and shuts again. He doesn’t want to hope it’s Eugene because he could very well be disappointed by the arrival of any number of soldiers who are billeted in this house and he’s not sure he could bear disappointment on top of everything else. The home is quiet for long minutes before he can hear footsteps on the stairs. 

He drifts for a while as he hears the water running in the bathroom, fading in and out of a state of detached numbness. He can smell the same fancy soap drifting on muggy air down the hall from the next room.

There’s a soft knock on the door before it pushes open with a creak. Snafu tenses and hunches in on himself, well aware of the scene the person must have walked into downstairs. He can’t find it in himself to be ashamed but he doesn’t want to be confronted about it either. 

The person walks into the room, closing the door behind them. He can hear them sit on the other bed and start to rifle through the bag there. Eugene then. His breath hiccups despite his best efforts to stay quiet. 

“Oh Snaf.” Eugene lets out a long, slow breath and walks over. Snafu can’t quite read his tone of voice. He could be disappointed, exhausted, or understanding. Maybe he’s a combination of all of it. He sits on the edge of Snafu’s bed, his light weight causing the soft mattress to sag.

Defensively, Snafu answers the question he knows Eugene wants to ask. “This is a fuckin’ nazi’s house. It’s what they deserve.” Snafu’s voice sounds muggy and thick even to his own ears, reminding himself of the air just before a thunderstorm in the middle of summer. Eugene reaches out and puts a hand on the bare skin between his shoulder blades. His skin is warm and soft from bathing and he smells only like soap and himself. Snafu eases back into his touch, taking whatever small comfort he can get. 

“How do you know they knew?” Eugene’s voice is small and soft. Before everything, the caution in it would have driven Snafu up the wall but now he thinks maybe he needs to be handled with kid gloves for a while. He feels like he’s holding onto his sanity with broken fingernails and nothing else.

“The husband’s SS, high-up from the looks of it. You expect me to believe that this family knew nothin’ about that camp? Bull-fuckin’-shit.” The fury in his voice carves cracks into his words. Eugene gently drags his fingertips on Snafu’s bare skin, keeping his touch light and easy enough for Snafu to escape should he want to. He doesn’t. He’s loved Eugene’s hands ever since the day he first noticed them. They’re bigger than a person would expect on someone as slight as Eugene. He’s got long, elegant fingers that he’s seen put men back together and that he’s felt take him apart. 

Now he just finds solace in the familiarity of their touch and Snafu feels himself start to break apart. “That coulda been my family, Gene. My mama, my little sisters.” The sobs claw their way up his throat again and burst forward with an animalistic noise of grief that he doesn’t think he knew he was capable of making. 

“Scoot over, darlin’. Go on.” Eugene crawls onto the bunk behind him and nudges him gently to get him to make a little room. The beds aren’t sized for two full-grown men but Snafu scoots closer to the wall to make space for him. The wall radiates a chill from outside but Eugene warms him from behind and draws a blanket over both of them. He lays close to him, wrapping an arm around his waist until Snafu’s shoulders are pressed against his breastbone and they’re touching from their shoulders all the way down to where Eugene’s knees are tucked in behind his. Eugene’s also mostly unclothed and the warm press of his sweet-smelling skin is like a balm to Snafu’s rubbed-raw nerves. He’s infinitely grateful that Eugene showered before coming to see him. He’s not sure he could stand the smell of that place on Eugene’s skin. Snafu continues to hiccup and shake with sobs and Eugene rests his forehead on the back of Snafu’s neck. 

“You cry for as long as you need,” he murmurs, kissing the soft skin just below his hairline. His voice sounds thick and close to tears as well. “I’m not goin’ anywhere. You got me.” He sounds like Snafu’s mama used to when he’d feel sad or lost or broken as a baby. He feels all three right now.

By the time Snafu quiets, it’s well into the night. Eugene is still curled around him like somehow he can shield him from everything they saw today. Snafu curls one of his arms up around Eugene’s and draws little shapes on his forearm with his fingertips. Despite the length of time they’ve been lying still on the bed he can tell Eugene’s still awake by his breathing. Eugene presses another kiss to the nape of his neck and Snafu has to swallow down a lump in his throat. He falls asleep with the chilled tip of Eugene’s nose pressed against the back of his neck and the steady thrum of his heart against his back.

Snafu wakes in the middle of the night with a wicked headache that pounds behind his eyes. It’s been a long time since he’s cried at all, let alone so hard for so long. Eugene is still curled around him protectively, but he’s snoring gently now in a way that Snafu hates that he finds endearing. With a sleepy groan Snafu shifts and wiggles to try and get comfortable again. Eugene hums from behind him and pulls back just enough to leave Snafu’s bare back exposed to the cold air. Snafu hears himself make a whiny, unhappy noise that he’s not sure he’s made in 20 years or so.

“You ‘wake?” Eugene barely sounds awake himself but he’s already moving to get up.

“Yeah.” Snafu’s voice is a rough croak as he rolls onto his back and watches Eugene cross back to his bed with a frown. He wants to draw Eugene back to bed but Eugene won’t even look at him. He flips on a light and Snafu covers his eyes with his forearm, hissing like a cat. He can hear Eugene rifling through his stuff, hears his footsteps as he walks back over. 

“Lemme see your hand.” 

“Gene, it’s the middle of the night. Come back to bed.” He reaches out blindly with his less-damaged left hand, trying to grab at Eugene and pull him back to the mattress. 

“Hand.” His voice leaves no room for further argument and Snafu knows when he’s lost a fight. He rolls to face him a little more and holds out his right hand. By now he knows better than to argue when Eugene gets into his medic mindset.

The towel sticks uncomfortably to the wound on his hand as Eugene goes to pull it away. He must wince or make a face because Eugene starts to mumble soothingly at him, still sounding warm and sleepy. He peeks an eye open to watch Eugene work. He’s cute like this - focused but tired with his brow furrowed and his tongue sticking out between his teeth. A little crease forms between Eugene’s eyebrows as he peers down at his hand, gently pulling the skin apart to assess the largest cut. 

“It probably needs stitches, Snaf.” He sounds unimpressed and true to form Snafu only feels his own defiance rise to the surface. “It’s still bleedin’.”

“Not gonna get stitches.” Snafu’s pretty confident that Eugene already knows this guessing by the way he sighs. He gets up and leaves the room without another word and Snafu pulls himself to a seated position. He has a split second of worrying that Eugene’s had enough of him for the night before he hears rustling in the bathroom the next door down. He can hear the pipes creaking as the water turns on and heats up. There’s the muted sound of Eugene rifling through the cabinets as well. 

When he comes back he’s got a big bowl full of hot soapy water, a few more pure white towels, and a pair of tweezers with him. His hands are gentle and sure as he starts to pick out little shards of glass from the wounds, apologizing every time Snafu winces or reflexively tries to pull his hand back. Eventually he seems to be satisfied with his work and he spends some time cleaning the cuts with the warm soapy water. He sprinkles on some sulfa powder from his bag and finishes up by wrapping a bandages around both of Snafu’s hands. The one on his right is so tight Snafu can hardly flex his fingers. 

Eugene bends down and places a kiss to the palm of his hand, softening the impact of the tight bandage and his displeasure. “Try to keep it dry for a few days. If it keeps bleedin’ you’re gettin’ stitches whether you want ‘em or not.” 

“If you say so.” Snafu heard somewhere that relationships are about compromise. He figures this is an easy enough compromise to make. 

He helps Eugene tidy up all of the towels he’d used by tossing them into the corner as Eugene repacks his med bag. Eugene sets the bag on his bed and flips the light off when he’s done and Snafu tracks the pit-pat of his bare feet back across the room to his bed. He rolls onto his side to make room, shivering with goosebumps as Eugene lifts the blanket and lets in the cool air. Eugene slots behind him again like the missing piece to a puzzle and Snafu finds that sleep comes to him much more easily this time around.

The next time Snafu wakes it’s a little after dawn. Eugene is wrapped around him, his broad hand splayed against Snafu’s stomach. Any other time Snafu would take that as an invitation and spend the morning in warmth and pleasure. Instead he very carefully extricates himself from Eugene. As he climbs over him, Eugene grumbles and rolls to press his face into the pillow. He doesn’t seem to wake and Snafu breathes a sigh of relief as he gets dressed. 

Despite knowing better Snafu makes the choice to go AWOL and return to the camp to watch the Germans bury the bodies of his murdered people. It’s only right, he figures. They are all responsible for these deaths. Every single one of them benefitted from the murders, watched and ignored while these people were rounded up and herded into camps like animals. Why shouldn’t they be forced to clean up the mess they’ve helped make? 

He comes back because he doesn’t trust any of these people to treat their victims with respect or compassion even now. And God help him, he’ll make sure they suffer if even one of them complains. He only wishes there were a rabbi here to give them the burial they deserve, to help them make their way back to God and soothe their souls with the knowledge that they are remembered and mourned.

He watches the proceedings with an expression so cold even the MPs give him a wide berth. They likely know he’s not meant to be here but no one says shit to him as he stands and observes. He’s got his Tommy gun in his hands and he hopes he looks half as threatening as he feels. If past interactions are anything to go off of, he definitely does. He wants to look crazed and terrifying. He wants to scare these people, haunt their dreams at night. He wants them to look over their shoulder years from now and wonder if maybe he’s come back for them to seek justice.

A well-dressed blonde man trips and falls, dropping the body in his arms to the ground. Snafu doesn’t even think before he’s striding up to him, his bandaged hands itching as they grip his gun. “Get up. Pick him up.” The man doesn’t move and Snafu grabs him by the back of his coat and forces his head up. “I said MOVE!” 

“Enough,” the man pants in heavily accented English. “This is too much. You cannot ask us to do this. It is cruel and unjust.”

He points his gun at the man’s head. “After everythin’ around you right now, you think this is cruelty? You think this is too much?”

“I’m not a nazi. We didn’t know,” the man bleats and Snafu hates him. He hates this scum with every fiber of his being, with every hair on his head and every drop of blood in his veins. He hates all of them. He hates the pathetic, sobbing women. The lazy, well-dressed men. He even hates the fat and rosy-cheeked children who shield their eyes. All of them who got to sleep in warm beds thinking they were better than everyone else, more worthy of life. He goes up and presses the barrel of his gun right up against the man’s sweating, repulsive forehead hard enough to leave a round mark. 

“You did this!” he roars. “This is your town, your country, your god-damned master race. You’re all responsible. If you asked every German in this fuckin’ hellhole of a country you wouldn’t find a single fuckin’ nazi accordin’ to them. The way I figure that means y’all all must be nazis coverin’ up for each other. Every single one of you. And I’m in this fuckin’ place to kill nazis. I ain’t shied away from it yet and I’m sure as FUCK,” he pushes the butt of the gun harder against his forehead, forcing the man’s neck to bow backwards, “not gonna start now.”

His finger is on the trigger of his gun and his head is screaming at him to do it, to paint this man’s brains on the ground. What’s a few more drops of blood? What’s a little more death? He hears footsteps running up behind him and he figures it’s the MPs here to drag him away. He flinches in surprise when an arm wraps around his chest and forces him to take two steps back, knocking his gun to the side. 

“Don’t. Snaf, that’s enough.” Eugene’s voice sounds urgent and scared in his ear. Snafu’s hands are shaking and he’s breathing like he just ran a mile. The German is crying softly and Snafu wants to give him something to really cry about. He lurches forward again but Eugene’s arms are strong and firm in their hold on him. “C’mon, Merriell, let’s go.” 

Eugene never calls Snafu by his name; no one does. He misses hearing it and he sometimes asks Eugene to use it while they’re fucking. It’s unfair of him to use it now but it gets the desired result. Snafu feels some of his anger fade and some of his sanity return. He shakes himself loose of Eugene’s grip and lets his gun’s aim fall to the floor. “You ain’t worth the ammo,” he snarls at the pathetic man sniveling on the ground. Snafu wants to spit on him but he’s afraid he’d miss and hit the body the German has dropped instead. 

As he turns and walks away, Eugene jogs a little to catch up with him. Snafu turns to look at him. He looks perfect in this moment. The skin on his face is soft and pale and there are freckles dotting the bridge of his nose. The sun is glinting off of his hair and making it as red as it can be. He looks angry and worried but there’s always a softness in his eyes when he looks at Snafu. Snafu can’t find it in him to lie to Eugene, not right now. “I woulda done it. I wouldn’t even be sorry.”

“I know. But then you’d’ve gotten yourself arrested and court martialed and you don’t get to go anywhere until I do.” Eugene grips his arm right above his elbow and leads him back out of the camp. He doesn’t let go until they’ve crossed the treeline and are well into the forest heading back to base. “Burgie’s madder than hell at you. Says you coulda at least told him before you went AWOL.” 

“He woulda stopped me.” Snafu lights a cigarette and takes a long drag before exhaling lightly, letting the smoke wind slowly out of his lungs. The tobacco soothes him and he takes another deep inhale. He looks over at Eugene. “He tell Ack-Ack?”

Eugene sends him a withering look. “Of course not. He told me to get you the hell back to camp.” He sounds angrier now that the urgency of the situation has passed. “That was fuckin’ stupid, Snaf. You’re a goddamn asshole. What were you tryin’ to prove, huh?” Snafu doesn’t say anything to that. He can’t explain or expect Eugene to understand the depth of his fury. Eugene deflates. “Do you feel better?”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever feel better about this.” Even to his own ears, his voice doesn’t sound like his own. He sounds hollow, like a long empty hallway. Eugene nods a little in response and reaches out to take Snafu’s hand. He’d been so tender this morning when he’d bandaged the cuts Snafu had made the night before and his grip is gentle now like he’s afraid to hurt Snafu more. He presses a kiss to the back of Snafu’s hand and Snafu turns to face him. 

“I feel like I ain’t got nothin’ but bad in me anymore,” he confesses in a whisper. Eugene’s grip on him tightens a little, makes the gash on his palm sting.

“I know that ain’t true. You’ve got love in you too. Love for your family, for the guys. For me.”

“I do love you, Eugene.” He’s never said it before, not out loud. He’s tried to show Eugene in his own broken ways but he hasn’t felt brave enough to say it until now. Now Eugene’s seen the ugliest parts of him and is still here holding his hand. Snafu can’t ask for anything more. 

Despite where they’ve been and what they’ve seen, Eugene’s face softens with a small smile. “I know you do.” When he leans in to press a kiss to Snafu’s mouth, Snafu finally feels a tiny bit of his anger chip off and drift away and he can breathe again. 

  


* * *

  


Ack-Ack comes to find him later when he’s sitting on the grass in a patch of sunshine. He feels a pulse of fear that maybe Burgie had ended up reporting him out of anger but Ack-Ack just sits next to him and lets out an old man’s sigh. It doesn’t suit him. “How’re you holding up Shelton?” 

Relaxing a little, Snafu shrugs. “Don’t rightly know, sir.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s a stupid question right now. I don’t think I’d know how I was doing either.” He looks over at Snafu and his expression is serious but kind. “I wanted to let you know that I’m going to be censoring the mail for the next week or so.” Furrowing his brow, Snafu looks at him and wonders why the hell Ack-Ack is talking to him about mail. Ack-Ack smiles a little back at him like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. “I’m going to censor what the Army tells me to but I might miss some things. Even more so if someone were to write a letter in a different language. I never got the hang of languages. So if a soldier wanted to write to their family about some things they might have seen before the media gets a hold of it, I wouldn’t know what all I’m supposed to censor and I might just let it through as is.” 

It finally sinks in and Snafu’s heart swells with respect and affection for his captain. He’s followed Ack-Ack through Africa, out of airplanes, into Europe, into the fucking Ardennes forest, and this is why. He’s a leader who cares about the wellbeing of his men, both physically and mentally. He’s willing to stand in the line of fire and put himself at risk of getting into trouble with his COs for guys like Snafu and that’s a rare thing. Ack-Ack stands and taps Snafu’s helmet affectionately before he walks back to where Hillbilly’s waiting for him. 

Snafu isn’t sure he should tell his mama about what he’s seen here, about what he knows. His mama’s family has lived in America for a generation or so now but there’s still family over here. Or… there was. And Snafu has spent his whole life trying not to upset his mama, even if he hasn’t been very good at it. The idea of writing her a letter that would devastate her goes against every cell in his body. But she deserves to know. She deserves to hear it from someone who loves her and who’ll tell her the truth. She needs to know that he did what he could to help the people that he’d found and that those people are hope among the wreckage. There are still living Jews in Europe, just like there always has been and there always will be.

Snafu leans back onto his elbows and tilts his head up toward the sun. A tear leaks out of the corner of his eye and he lets it drop off of his cheek. One more Jewish tear soaks into the ground of Germany. He hopes the Nazis drown in them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was an incredibly cathartic chapter for me to write. I based a lot of Snafu's feelings on my own and just kind of went with it. Honestly, that's part of why it was so important for me to write this from a Jewish POV, because it's my own POV too. 
> 
> The title is from Poetic Tragedy by The Used.
> 
> I hope you like this chapter. It was a really important one for me.
> 
> Adank, teyere fraynd: Thank you, dear friend.
> 
> Meyn namen iz Merriell. Vos iz deyn nomen?: My name is Merriel. What's your name?
> 
> Meyn namen iz Mosche Ginzburg: My name is Mosche Ginzburg.
> 
> Ikh bin tsufridn tsu trefn ir, Mosche: I'm pleased to meet you, Mosche.
> 
> Mnukh, Merriell. Ir’ve getan genug: Rest, Merriell. You've done enough. 
> 
> Dem veg ir kenen gefinen mir shpeter: This way you can find me later.


	8. You Might Make It, Boy, But By the Skin of Your Teeth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You won’t believe it. The fuckin’ Germans surrendered.” 
> 
> They all sit in silence for a moment, unable to process what they’ve just heard. “How many?”
> 
> “All of ‘em!” Barrie whoops, dancing a little on the spot.
> 
> The war ends and everything changes.

K35 and the 101st don’t stay in Landsberg for long and Eugene is deeply grateful for that. Eugene has barely gotten Snafu back to the town before the order comes in for them to keep moving through Bavaria toward Hitler’s personal paradise. Eugene’s not sorry to leave the town behind. Although he’s appreciated having a door that locks and a comfortable bed and hot showers, he wants to salt the earth of this place and leave it in ruins behind them.

Along with the order to move out comes the shocking news that Hitler is dead. Apparently he killed himself in some bunker in Berlin as the Russians closed in on him. The men celebrate by stealing liquor from a nearby town and getting drunk, by dancing with local girls or each other or whoever they can grab, by gambling and rabble rousing until Hillbilly reminds them that the war ain’t won yet. The only one who doesn’t seem to feel elated by the news is Snafu.

“The fucker didn’t deserve the easy way out,” he snarls, his bandaged fingers white with tension as they grip his gun. “He shoulda been put in one of those fuckin’ camps. Or they coulda let me at him. I’da torn the fucker to pieces with my bare hands.” He spits on the ground. And Eugene doesn’t doubt him even a bit. His visceral, righteous fury is so thick and potent that Eugene can almost taste it in the air. 

Seeing how close Snafu came to killing that German civilian rattles Eugene. He feels like he watched Snafu walk right up to the edge of his sanity until his toes were hanging off the end. There’s no question in his mind that Snafu would have ended up shooting that man in the forehead and Eugene can’t blame him, not really. He can’t even begin to understand what Snafu’s going through, but he can see fractions of it in the curl of his lip and in the way he snarls at almost anyone and everyone who comes across him. 

He can feel the itch to get in a fight running through Snafu like electricity. Several times, Eugene has to step between Snafu and another soldier to keep them from coming to blows. Snafu gets even nastier than he was before, finding sore spots in other men and picking at them relentlessly and without any humor. He becomes exceedingly difficult to be around but Eugene hardly leaves his side.

Eugene is one of the lucky few that Snafu doesn’t treat like shit. He’s not sweet exactly but he doesn’t actively try to push Eugene away. Burgie and Jay aren’t quite so lucky but they know Snafu well enough to see through his behavior to the hurt underneath. They dig in their heels and refuse to be driven off despite how hard Snafu tries. 

“I hope that mean son of a bitch knows how lucky he is to have us,” Burgie grumbles after a particularly miserable day of enduring Snafu’s wrath.

Eugene glances around to make sure that Snafu isn’t nearby. “Cut him some slack, Burg. We can’t imagine what he must be feeling.” 

And they truly can’t. They’ve all seen death on a mass scale by now but it’s never felt targeted or personal the way it feels for Snafu. It was just war. But the massacre of the Jews hits Snafu right where he lives. Landsberg haunts him, dogs his every step like a shadow or a bad smell and it’s taken a harsh toll on him. He sleeps poorly, tossing and turning in silence before waking and chain smoking until it’s time to move again. He eats less with every meal, getting skinnier until his ribs start to show more than is healthy, even in a war zone. Eugene would be lying if he said he isn’t worried.

After Landsberg, their next target is Berchtesgaden, the location of Hitler’s vacation home. The 101st Airborne rides in Deuce and a Half trucks while K35 marches behind them. Normally Eugene would be a little peeved about it all but Bavaria is admittedly so pretty that walking feels nice, even if they are climbing a goddamned mountain. The Germans have supposedly been commanded to fight a guerrilla war (one last order from Hitler) but no ambush comes and none of the Germans they come across seem liable to do much besides watch them march past.

The other guys are salivating at the idea of the looting that they’ll be able to do. Eugene has never been much for looting, honestly. He’s got enough at home that he doesn’t need to sell anything for money. Others find joy in their stealing but Eugene doesn’t think he could look at something he’d stolen and feel pride about it. The guys joke about stealing Hitler’s underpants or his mustache comb but the only thing Eugene can focus on is Snafu’s noticeable silence.

He’s watched Snafu scavenge his way through the war and noted the particular glee he’s taken as he squirrels away basically anything and everything that fits in his pack. To his knowledge Snafu has taken a swastika flag, insignias from several dead Germans’ uniforms, wedding rings and watches, countless cigarettes and lighters, the knife from the house in Landsberg, and, bizarrely, a pair of wool socks.

(“Snaf, you live in Louisiana. When’ll you ever need anythin’ wool?” Burgie had snorted. 

“Socks is socks, Burgin. You can never have too many socks.”)

But now Snafu is conspicuously silent as the others laugh about what they might take from the Eagle’s Nest. Eugene bumps shoulders with him and smiles as Snafu cuts his eyes over at him. “What’re you thinkin’ about?”

“How I’d rather cut off my own hands than touch somethin’ he owned. All his shit’s bought with blood money.” His voice is low and dark and there’s something menacing in his eyes. “I’d just as soon light the whole fuckin’ place on fire.”

The fury in his voice catches Eugene off-guard. “Snaf…”

“Don’t worry about it.” Snafu’s fingers twitch against his Tommy gun but he doesn’t say anything else. It certainly doesn’t make Eugene worry any less. 

In the end they all make it up to Berchtesgaden without having to fire a single shot. It’s beautiful country. Mountains capped in white snow rise up around them giving the town the impression of being private and protected. Eugene has never seen a place quite like it. There are no mountains in Mobile, Alabama and everything seems to be so fresh and full of life here. It’s a cruel irony that a place that seems so lively acted as a home for so many men who spent years perfecting the skill of taking lives away.

The town is clean and lovely and the houses remind Eugene of the fairy tales his mother used to tell him when he was a child, especially Hansel and Gretel. They sit mostly empty and tempting as a house made of sweets and Eugene wonders if there’s a witch sitting in wait for them somewhere.

Major Winters of the 101st passes on the word that they’ll be put up in a ritzy hotel, the Berchtesgadener Hof. Even Eugene has never stayed in a place so nice. Everything is marble and gold-leaf and top of the line. Ack-Ack grins as he relays the order. “Pick yourselves a nice room, boys. Enjoy it.”

Eugene finds a two-bed room with spectacular views of the mountains and a bathroom attached right to it that they don’t have to share with anyone else. It’s heavenly. He herds Snafu in and sits down on the bed furthest from the window. He knows that Snafu likes to sleep nearest to the window where he can keep an eye on the world around them. “Want first shower?” 

“You go ahead. I’m gonna lay down for a while.” He grunts heavily as he lays down in his bed, turning to face the window. Eugene walks over and hesitates for a moment before he leans down and presses a firm kiss to Snafu’s temple. Snafu sighs and relaxes in a way that makes something in Eugene’s chest unclench. At least Snafu isn’t so numb that he isn’t responding. Snaf turns his face toward Eugene for a real kiss. “I’m alright, Eugene. Go shower, you smell.” 

Eugene nips the tip of his ear playfully and affectionately. “Yeah, yeah, alright.” He walks toward the bathroom grumbling all the way. 

Eugene has had relatively consistent access to hot showers since Haugenau but their novelty has not worn off. After a solid month and then some in Belgium with no showers at all, Eugene relishes the feeling of being truly clean. And this bathroom is _nice_. The one in Landsberg had been nice too but he hadn’t really gotten a chance to take it all in before they found the camp and everything about the place had been tarnished.

This bathroom is sun filled and tiled beautifully in colors that accent the view Eugene can remember from the bedroom. The fixtures are new and high-end enough that Eugene thinks his mother would be jealous if she could see him now. He turns on the shower as hot as it can go and he almost moans when he steps under the burning hot stream of water. He spends as much time as he needs making sure each and every inch of his skin is scrubbed clean. He doesn’t step out of the shower until the water starts to run cold. 

He dresses in clean skivvies and steps back into the bedroom, a puff of steam billowing out as soon as he opens the door. He walks back to the bed using a towel to dry the insides and backs of his ears but he stops when he notices the heavy, even breathing coming from Snafu. For the first time in quite a while, Snafu appears to be sleeping soundly. Eugene doesn't think he’s much of a praying man anymore but he sends a silent “thank you” up the Almighty in any case.  


* * *

  
They have a lot of down time in Berchtesgaden. The officers put them through half-hearted drills but for the most part the men are allowed to relax and unwind after so many months of toil. Eugene starts to write more and more in his bible but the words are no longer about faith or belief. It’s like his affection for God has been eroded by the cruelty of war. He writes little snippets about his days instead and uses empty space to draw pictures of the native flowers and birds he notices along the way. 

Eugene, Snafu, Jay, and Burgie are all relaxing on the hotel’s sun porch on May 8th, 1945 when someone busts out of the hotel in a chaotic moment of noise and movement. Snafu and Burgie are immediately on their feet with their guns in their hands and they grumble when that someone turns out to be Barrie. 

“Fuck’s sake, Barrie. We almost shot you.” Burgie’s voice is sour and annoyed, his relaxed mood tainted somewhat. 

Seemingly unphased at having two submachine guns pointed at him, Barrie’s face remains split by a huge grin. “You won’t believe it. The fuckin’ Germans surrendered.” 

They all sit in silence for a moment, unable to process what they’ve just heard. “How many?” Jay asks, his body leaning forward so far that he almost tips off of his lounge chair. 

“All of ‘em!” Barrie whoops, dancing a little on the spot. It’s then that it becomes clear that he’s got several big bottles of expensive champagne in his arms. He passes one off to Snafu then another to Jay and yet another to Eugene, cradling one other against his chest. “I’m gonna find me a girl to take to bed and get rotten drunk. Germany surrendered!” He laughs as he disappears back into the building. 

As the shock of the announcement starts to fade, the four companions begin to laugh incredulously. Their joy is tentative at first as though they’re afraid that Barrie will burst back out and tell them all it’s just a joke, but after a few moments they let the warmth of pure happiness take hold. Burgie grabs the champagne and pops the cork, causing Jay to cheer happily. 

Swept up in the fervor of the moment, Snafu catches Eugene’s face in his hands and plants a hard kiss onto his lips. It lasts barely a second but Eugene freezes, glancing over at his friends. While he’s pretty sure they’ve sussed out his relationship with Snafu already - they’ve never been as careful as they should have been - they’ve never been open about it in front of them before and there’s the potential here for it to go badly wrong. It’s one thing to suspect something and another to see it out in the open. 

After a tense second, Jay boos and splashes them both with champagne. 

“We’re celebratin’ together, goddamnit.” Burgie gripes, flopping back onto his lounge chair before he sits back up and points at Snafu sternly. “Don’t make us third wheel VE day.”

Snafu laughs and it’s beautiful to hear. He hasn’t laughed since before Landsberg, and Eugene hasn’t realized how much he’s missed the sound. “I can kiss you too, Burgie, if you feelin’ left out. Pucker up.” He leans in toward Burgie and immediately finds himself in a headlock as Jay laughs hysterically next to them. 

The relief is as heady as a drug for Eugene. He grabs the champagne from Jay and takes a big gulp of it, then another and another. This group of friends, of chosen family accepts him for who he is with no complaints. They’ve all survived the war and the Germans have surrendered. They’re in Hitler’s own backyard, drinking his champagne, kissing and celebrating their victory. It’s a good day.  


* * *

  
The hangovers from VE Day have barely worn off before K35 starts moving out of Germany and into Austria. In fact, those men who are lucky enough to ride in trucks don’t stop drinking and celebrating long enough to get a hangover in the first place. 

Eugene has never been much of a drinker. He was too young to have had much drinking experience before he’d enlisted, and he doesn’t like the taste. He’d indulged in several big swigs of champagne and had gotten a little dizzy but he’s spared the aches and pains his platoon members are facing. Amongst the poor peons of their division who have been left to dry out, Jay seems to be struggling particularly hard. He winces at any noise and can’t seem to open his eyes fully against the bright sun. “I couldn’t drink yet when I enlisted. I haven’t had a lot of time to build up a tolerance to it.” He sounds very defensive about it when Burgie and Snafu tease him. 

Snafu claps him hard on the back and Jay gags. “Our little baby’s all grown up!” He starts to whistle loudly and Eugene has to pull him away before Jay reaches out and wraps his hands around his throat.

They march onward despite the groans and occasional retching of the overindulged. 

Austria is just about the most beautiful place Eugene has ever seen. Pictures don’t do it justice and couldn’t possibly. They can’t capture the depth of the landscape that takes your breath away or the fresh smell of unravaged land. Whenever he has a spare moment, Eugene takes to birdwatching with a new passion. He scribbles down little sketches of the different birds he sees as a reminder to look them up later. For the first time in the war, he can see and hear the wildlife around him. But it’s hard to appreciate it fully when he knows that Snafu is still miserable.

While he’s much more himself than he had been before VE Day, he seems to struggle with the fact that Austria is so peaceful and seemingly untouched by the war. The area is filled with well-fed Austrian civilians and sharp-looking German surrenderers who look more put together and in better shape than the American victors. (This is in large part due to the fact that huge numbers of the Americans are either drunk or hungover, even still.) Their easy-going attitudes and apparent contentment even in the face of defeat seem to foster a bitterness in Snafu.

“How many of these assholes had Jewish neighbors before all this shit? You think they look so fat and happy?”

Eugene doesn’t have an answer for him, so he just walks beside him and lets their arms brush together with each step.  


* * *

  
They settle into Austria in a town called Zell am See. As squad sergeant, Burgie takes responsibility for their little crew and promises Hillbilly he’ll keep everyone in line. Their lieutenant doesn’t seem convinced but he’s apparently not bothered enough to put up any sort of argument either. He and Ack-Ack both seem relieved to have some free time of their own where they’re not expected to babysit handfuls of intoxicated and rowdy soldiers.

The four of them commandeer a small farmhouse that’s got three bedrooms full of wounded German soldiers. It’s hard to see them, to acknowledge the fact that they bleed and hurt and wish for home and die just like American soldiers do. Nevermind the fact that Eugene has finally let himself believe that his days of seeing wounded men are done and now suddenly he’s confronted by rooms stuffed with them.

The Germans are moved out much to Eugene’s relief, evacuated back into Germany for treatment, and Eugene and his buddies move in. 

It’s strange to have a whole house at their disposal. The cellar and refrigerator are well-stocked, and all of them are shocked when Snafu turns out to be a pretty good cook. 

He makes them a big home-cooked meal on the first night they settle into the house. He shrugs at their shock about how good the food is. “Mama worked so I had to look after the girls. ‘Sides, Mama always said a man should know how to at least keep himself alive.” 

“Eugene, you oughta make an honest man outta him,” Burgie says through a mouthful of food. “I don’t think you’re gonna find someone else who cooks like this who’ll have you.” Jay snorts water out through his nose while Snafu hurls a wooden spoon at Burgie.

For the first time ever, Eugene and Snafu get to share a bed that was made for two grown adults to sleep in together at the same time. It’s not a particularly luxurious bed but it’s good enough to support a hardworking farmer and his wife so Eugene figures it’s good enough for them as well. They take their time getting each other off, letting themselves enjoy their brief moments of domesticity. As moonlight shines in through the small window beside the bed, Snafu and Eugene lay facing each other. They’re near enough that their noses touch but their bodies are angled back away from each other to take full advantage of the space they’ve been given. Snafu is loose and relaxed, his blinks coming a little slower each time. Eugene loves each warm, sleepy inch of him with every cell in his body.

“I was thinkin’ about what I’ll do when I get back home. To the States, I mean.” His voice is low and soft, barely above a whisper. Snafu hums and Eugene figures it’s an invitation to keep talking. “I got a letter from Eddie. He’s gettin’ married soon and Mother misses me, so I’ll have to go home at first.” Snafu seems a little more awake now and there’s a cautious look in his eyes. “I have to meet Eddie’s wife, be a good brother to him.”

“I get it.” Snafu’s voice is gentle and serious. “Any one of us who’s got a Mama oughta go home and see her.”

“Let me finish.” Eugene takes a deep breath. He’s putting a lot of himself on the line here, more than he’s done with any person before. He’s showing Snafu the raw, tender love he’s got for him and asking him to love him back enough to commit to him. “I was thinkin’ that I’d come to Louisiana when I’m done and I’ll stay, if you want me to.”

Snafu sucks in a sharp breath and pushes forward into Eugene’s space to kiss him soundly. For the few seconds that Eugene can think straight, he figures it’s a pretty good sign. When Snafu pulls back, Eugene is pink-cheeked and breathing hard. “I ain’t got a place for you to come to. I don’t know where I’ll land when I get home.”

“That’s alright. Gimme your mother’s address, and I’ll send letters to her house for you.”

Snorting, Snafu nudges Eugene’s nose with his own. “We ain’t got no address. I’m a swamp rat, remember? But I’ll write you when I get a place, tell you where I’m at. I don’t think I’ll go far from home.” He seems nervous, unsure. “But it might take me a while, Eugene. I don’t got any idea where I’ll go.” 

Eugene smiles, his heart full and soaring. “There’s no rush, Snaf.” He pokes at Snafu’s legs with his cold toes and laughs when Snafu traps his feet between his calves. “I can wait. All you have to do is let me know where you’re at.”  


* * *

  
Exposure to the peace and beauty of Austria over time seems to do Snafu a world of good. He seems relaxed and more at ease, at least when he’s away from civilians or German soldiers. He’s not back to his old self, exactly. He still vanishes into his own head regularly and it’s still a struggle to get him to eat or sleep like he should. But there’s more smiling and laughing and his shoulders start to ease back down away from his ears.

They have more free time in Austria than they’ve had since they enlisted and more often than not Eugene finds Snafu tucked away on one of the hidden beaches on the bank of Lake Zell. The fact that it’s only early summer and the sun has barely had time to warm the lake doesn’t seem to matter much to Snafu. He’s drawn to the crystal clear water like a magnet. Eugene finds him with his pant legs rolled up and wading, the water halfway up his hairy, skinny calves.

“Hey,” he calls out, waving as he draws closer to the water’s edge. Snafu turns and smiles a little, waving back. He sloshes his way back to the sandy grass that serves as the shore.

“Hey yourself. Didn’t think I’d see you here.” Snafu sits down on the grass, wiggling his toes in the sunshine. 

Eugene sits down beside him, cross-legged and starts to pluck blades of grass from the ground and shred each one neatly in half. “This is where to find you these days. Seems like you’re always here.” He smiles. 

“I always liked the water. Puts me at ease, helps me think. Makes me feel at home.”

“This place reminds you of Louisiana?” Eugene raises an eyebrow and looks around. There are mountains barricading the lake from each direction, and the trees that surround it aren’t anything like he imagines grow in the bayou. 

“Water’s water.” Snafu shrugs and lays on his back. “Feels the same no matter where you are.”

Eugene hums and lays back with him, his pile of shredded grass abandoned. “You’ll have to teach me about the water when I come to Louisiana. In Mobile it’s just a means to an end.”

Snafu doesn’t say anything for a moment or two. When Eugene looks over at him, he seems to be lost in thought. “Snafu?”

“Hm?” He apparently comes back to here and now and gives Eugene a small smile. “Sorry. Yeah, I’ll show you. When you come to Louisiana.” There’s something off in his voice that Eugene can’t quite put his thumb on. But before he can worry it smooth in his mind, Snafu takes his hand and gives him a kiss and he feels reassured.  


* * *

  
Eugene thinks that no more battles means his job is done. There’ll be no more gunshot wounds to stem the blood from, no more morphine, no more fucking blisters. He rejoices in the idea of his own worthlessness. 

It turns out that he’s wrong.

Due to the liberation of Göring’s personal wine cellar, there’s a seemingly unending supply of alcohol available to bored GIs who suddenly have more free time than they’ve had since Pearl Harbor. Eugene finds himself patching up the scrapes of clumsy men and bar fights, but there’s more serious work to be done as well. Car crashes come one after another leaving men broken and bloody in their wake. Eugene helps the surgeons take care of the crash victims. Each one feels like a punch to the gut. The war is over. How are men still dying? How is it that a field medic has started doing the role of a civilian one? 

When Germany surrenders, Eugene and his friends don't feel the same unbridled joy of peacetime that some of the homebound GIs experience. They’re in for the duration plus six months and apparently that doesn’t just apply to the war in Europe. Instead, they turn their gazes east and wonder about the horrors that the Pacific has in store for them. They’ve all heard stories about the ruthless determination of the Japanese and now they’re being aimed at Japan like artillery, just fodder for the cannons. 

Throughout the war in Europe, Eugene hasn’t carried a gun even once. He’s been afraid he’d be too tempted to use it, that he’d lose sight of his job as a medic and turn into a real soldier instead. But now a rifle is put into his hands by a grim-looking Sergeant. “You’ll need to brush up on using this. They target medics over there.” In addition to the extra medical instruction, Eugene starts attending weapons training with the rest of the guys. They look as sick about it as he feels. At the beginning he’d wanted nothing more than to have a gun in his hands and cause death and destruction but now the idea of it curdles in his stomach.

They drill and prepare for their new war with great anxiety as they watch reels about the fighting in the Pacific. The Japanese are a new type of enemy, one that is beholden to no gentlemanly conduct and has no interest in surrendering or taking prisoners. Their preparation ends up being unnecessary. V-E day on May 8th, 1945 is followed by V-J on August 15th after a new terror of war is unleashed upon the empire of Japan. Twice. Eugene wants to be horrified or sorry for the loss of life but all he feels is knee-weakening relief that he won’t be asked to fight or heal any more.

Their job then shifts from blood and death to peacekeeping. They stay in Austria and are tasked with removing any sign on Nazism they come across. Snafu in particular takes to their new duties with great relish. They spend a lot of time with Austrian citizens which still seems to be more difficult for Snafu than it is for the rest of them. Eugene enjoys their company and the others seem to as well but Snafu can never seem to let his guard down around them. “Why should they get to be happy and at peace? My people are still in fucking camps.” 

It’s not a lie. Snafu has been keeping up with the news regarding Jewish refugees, and they’ve all heard him talk about the Displaced Persons camps that have been set up in the shells of the old German prison camps. 

But all in all the next six months go relatively smoothly and before Eugene has stopped even jumping at loud noises, it’s time for them to go home. 

Now as they take a ship back to New York, Eugene is surrounded by men he trusts and loves. These men have become his family in a way that not even his blood relatives could ever achieve. There’s a somber atmosphere among them all - when they reach America, they’ll have to go their separate ways and try to live their lives as though the past two years (or more) never happened. 

From New York, Eugene, Jay, Burgin, and Snafu board a large train that will take them each to their respective homes. Alabama, Louisiana, Texas, then California. The train is nicer than most of the places they stayed in Europe. They’re all dressed sharp in their pinks and greens, looking acceptable and polite in a way that Eugene doesn’t think suits any of them anymore. 

It’s not just soldiers on the train. Civilians join them including, to their own misfortune, several pretty girls who set Jay to drooling. Burgie is engaged to Florence, his old fling from England, and Eugene and Snafu are clearly not interested so Jay is left to tomcat around on his own. 

He goes up to a very lovely girl with a plump figure and black curls and smiles at her, wide and open and charming. “I like that dress.” He pauses and leans in. “Let me test the zipper for you.” He puts his hand on her back and runs his finger up the length of her zipper. Understandably, she slaps him right across the mouth as her friend giggles behind her. The two of them disappear to the end of the car, whispering fast to one another. 

“Leave the poor girl alone,” Eugene scolds, laughing despite himself. There’s a plate of decent-looking food in front of him, chicken and potatoes and garden peas. “She looks nice. I’m sure she wouldn’t want the likes of you anyway.”

Jay rubs his jaw as he sinks down on the bench across from him. “She’s just playing hard to get. Give it 45 minutes and she’ll come around.”

“Y’know, if we’d gotten out six months ago all these broads woulda given you a blowjob, Jay.” Snafu smokes his cigarette with a grin, one arm slung casually on the bench behind Eugene’s shoulders. 

“Fat lot of good that does me now,” Jay gripes. 

Burgie walks over with four beers, handing one to each. “He get slapped again?” 

“Sure did,” Snafu drawls as he takes a pull from the beer.

“We gotta get you some better lines, bud.” Burgie grins at him as Jay narrows his eyes.

“Go to hell. My lines are just fine.”

Snafu hums a little. “Maybe they just don’t want you compared to all us fine specimens over here.” 

Eugene can’t help but laugh as Jay takes a handful of peas and chucks them right into Snafu’s face.  


* * *

  
Eugene is the first one to have to say goodbye. (It should have been Bill who left them first, but he’s still recovering in a hospital in England.) It takes forever and also no time at all to reach Mobile. As the conductor calls out the station, Eugene looks at Snafu and Jay and Burgie with desperate urgency, wanting to commit the sight of them as they are right now to memory, young and whole and handsome. There’s a lump in his throat so large he feels like he can’t breathe around it and his fist clenches around the strap of his sea bag as he slings it over his shoulder. 

“This is me.” It’s a stupid thing to say. They all know he’s from Mobile, that this is where he gets off. Jay’s lip quivers as he stands and holds his hand out for Eugene to shake. He does, and he holds on just a few moments too long. Burgie pulls him into a gruff hug that has Eugene huffing out a wet breath as they clap each other on the back. 

He turns to Snafu last. The thought of leaving him hurts so bad that he can hardly stand to look at him. He wants to kiss him senseless, to stay on the train and only get off when they reach New Orleans, to stay with him for the rest of his life. But he has to see his family. He pulls Snafu into a bone-crushing hug and holds him there. “Write me when you get settled,” he reminds him, and his voice breaks. “Send me your address and I’ll be there.” He has words he can’t say aloud, so he tries to pour every ounce of his love into the embrace. Snafu nods against his shoulder and when they pull apart Eugene feels that his neck is damp where Snafu’s face was pressed against it.

Swallowing hard, he turns and walks down the aisle toward the exit. It’s hard not to stop and look back but he knows he’ll be sunk if he does. As he steps onto the sunny platform, he finally lets himself stop and turn around. He meets Snafu’s eyes through the window and he holds up his hand in a silent goodbye. He stands there until the train starts to slowly chug out of the station. When he can’t see Snafu through the window anymore, he finally turns away and goes to find Sid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was much harder to write. It all sort of felt like filler. Hopefully you like it!
> 
> Chapter title is from Bartholomew by The Silent Comedy.


	9. Here I Come But I Ain't the Same

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes a little while for depression to truly seep into Eugene’s bones and take hold. The first few weeks are spent with Sid and his family and other friends he’d left behind when he enlisted. He hardly feels that he can catch his breath let alone wallow in the strangeness of everything. But he can’t be kept busy forever, and his melancholy is always just at the edges of his mind waiting to creep in.
> 
> When the gloom does arrive, however, it roars into life with a force that takes Eugene’s legs out from under him.
> 
> Eugene comes home.
> 
> Potential triggers: Eugene is very depressed and there are mentions of PTSD and suicidal ideation. I tried not to be particularly explicit. Please protect yourself.

“Well look what the cat dragged in.” Sid is standing next to his car, a sleek black thing that Eugene knows he must be proud of. He looks healthy and fit and is dressed in a nice suit that gives Eugene the impression of a kid playing dress-up. He was 17 the last time Eugene saw him and he looks less like the boy he was and more like the man he’s becoming. Even so, when he smiles his eyes narrow into crescent moons the way they always have since the first time he ever grinned at Eugene back when they were five.

Seeing Sid again feels fantastic, a balm to the ache in his heart. Sid enlisted in the Marines in 1941, the day after Pearl Harbor. He left for boot camp shortly thereafter, and they haven’t seen each other since. While seeing Sid doesn’t make up for losing Snafu, Burgie, and Jay, it feels like coming home.

They talk the whole drive to Eugene’s house. Sid tells Eugene that he’s engaged to Mary Houston, the sweetheart of Mobile, Alabama. He’s touched when Sid asks him to be his best man and he makes sure he shows it by hooting and hollering and carrying on in a boyish way that feels like a mask to cover his own heartache. Sid talks about med school and how his family is faring and Eugene blessedly doesn’t have to contribute much to the conversation. His mind is still back in that train compartment, chugging determinedly to New Orleans. Even if he wasn’t so distracted he’s not sure he’d have much to say. His life has nothing new in it besides war. He’s sure Sid has had enough of that to last him a lifetime. 

Sid drops him off at the end of the drive at Eugene’s request. He feels that he needs those few yards to get his head clear before he sees his parents and has to start slotting himself back into his previous life. Eugene hasn’t told his parents that he’s coming home today. It’d felt right to surprise them at the time. But now he wonders if it wouldn’t have made it easier on him if they knew he was coming. 

Eugene stops for a moment at the front door of his parents’ house to contemplate whether or not he should knock. He knows that this is his house. He was born in this building right on his parents’ mattress and he was raised here. It’s seen him through every illness, given him shelter in almost every storm, and it’s his home as much as anywhere else is. But he feels so incredibly different from the boy who called this place home. He feels like 100 years have passed and he’s an intruder trying to worm his way back into an old life that doesn’t fit anymore. 

As he stands there and tries to decide whether or not he should just walk in, the door opens. His father, probably summoned by the sound of Sid’s wheels on the gravel of the drive, stands before him with his pipe in his mouth and his eyes wide with surprise. “Eugene,” he breathes, the pipe falling from his mouth before he reaches out and clasps Eugene’s arm. They shake hands at first, more strangers than family after so long apart, but eventually Father breaks and wraps his arms around his youngest son. Physical affection has never been Father’s strong suit but he hugs Eugene with such strength and relief now that it makes Eugene feel like a child again. 

“Father, who is it?” Mother walks out into the hallway and gasps. Without any hesitation she steps forward and pulls Eugene into her arms. She cradles the back of his head as they sway back and forth in each other’s arms. Eugene has always chafed a little under the controlling gaze of his mother but her hug makes the persistent ache in his heart subside just a little. After almost two years of death and war, he’d forgotten that something as pure and good as a mother’s embrace exists. He hugs her like he did when he was a boy, his arms tight around her and holding nothing back. Mother pulls back and puts her hands on Eugene’s face, her eyes shining with unshed tears as her gaze flits over his face to take in every new wrinkle and scar. 

As Eugene looks at the faces of his parents, his joy seems paltry compared to theirs, tainted by the bleeding ache in his heart. His gladness to be home is marred by his devastation at leaving his new brothers and the love of his life, tarnished by the trauma he’s lived through. He finds that he can’t even fake a smile but his parents seem to be too happy to notice. They beam at him and then one another, and all Eugene can do is drink in the sight of them and silently, shamefully wish he could go back.

  


* * *

  


Mother and Father plan a special dinner for that evening with some of Eugene’s favorite foods. They ask Eddie and his new wife to come by too and Eugene finds he’s nervous about meeting his new sister-in-law. Eugene has never been an outgoing boy. More people than not would describe him as shy, he knows. But this time the uncertainty of meeting a new person is compounded by her permanence, by the fact that she’s family and her first impression of him will last a lifetime.

His parents give him some time to settle in and unpack his bag in his old room. He sits down on his bed, overwhelmed by the task of unpacking his life, at the ill-fitting normalcy of being back in his parents’ house. He unpacks his things slowly, one pair of socks at a time and tries to remind himself of how things used to be. Shortly after that he finds himself laying down on top of the quilt and before he knows it he’s fallen asleep, exhausted by travel and emotions. He doesn’t wake again until the doorbell rings at around 6 o’clock. He sits up and stretches, listening to Tee open the door. He can hear Eddie’s voice so he stands and makes sure that his uniform isn’t too creased from his unexpected nap. 

When Eugene leaves his room Eddie meets his eyes almost immediately. His face breaks into a grin and he seems so happy that Eugene can’t help but smile weakly back. Eddie’s in his uniform too and Eugene’s eyes land on the oak leaves that denote Eddie’s status as a Major. He must have gotten several promotions since they saw one another in England. Eugene’s never been subjected to Eddie’s leadership outside of the tense bossiness of an older brother but the leaf cluster looks natural on him. Eugene’s certain his ego must be insufferable at this point but he’d still managed to secure himself a wife so he can’t be too unbearable.

By Eddie’s side is a delicate-looking woman with perfectly done-up blonde hair and a warm smile outlined in red lipstick. She’s the kind of woman Eugene had always thought Eddie’d end up marrying. She’s got the looks and manners of a southern belle but there seems to be some steel in her backbone that makes Eugene like her right off. She’s got a nice-sized diamond on her left ring finger, all shiny and distracting, and Eugene guesses being a Major comes with a pretty good salary.

“Martha.” Eddie puts his arm around the waist of his pretty wife. “This is my little brother Eugene. Eugene, may I present Mrs. Martha Sledge.”

It’s a strange thing, to have to be introduced to his brother’s wife. He’d never even considered that he wouldn’t be at Eddie’s wedding someday but the Army took that from him. Hell, it’d taken the whole experience of watching Eddie’s fumbling attempts at courtship. Eugene had never gotten to talk to her about what a pain Eddie was growing up or tell her embarrassing stories about his teenage years. He doesn’t blame Eddie for not waiting until Eugene was back to marry her. He seems so smitten with Martha that he doubts Eddie could have waited an extra week to marry her let alone six whole months. But it’s just one more thing about being home that feels off, like he’s trying to squeeze his square life into a round hole.

Martha is warm and kind. She treats Eugene like he’s been her brother all along, like she’s missed him as much as the rest of the family. She folds Eugene into her life as easy as breathing. Her love for Eddie is obvious in a way that makes Eugene almost envious. She’s focused on him like there’s no one else in the room and Eugene is so glad that Eddie’s found someone who loves him so.

As his family laughs and shares stories and celebrates, Eugene can’t help but feel like he’s an intruder or a stranger looking in at a happy family through a window. He can hardly keep track of what’s being said. He laughs just a beat too late and he knows that he’s not pretending to be happy as well as he’d hoped. Several times he has to excuse himself and escape to the hallway just to have some time alone to catch his breath and calm his racing thoughts. He leaves the party early citing exhaustion as the reason, but when he goes back to his room and tries to sleep, he stares awake at the ceiling for a long time.

  


* * *

  


It takes a little while for depression to truly seep into Eugene’s bones and take hold of him. The first few weeks are spent with Sid and his family and other friends he’d left behind when he enlisted. He hardly feels that he can catch his breath let alone wallow in the strangeness of everything. But he can’t be kept busy forever and his melancholy is always just at the edges of his mind waiting to creep in.

When the gloom does arrive however, it roars into life with a force that takes Eugene’s legs out from under him. When the excitement over his homecoming dies down, Eugene realizes he has no idea how to exist in civilian life anymore. He’s simultaneously restless and exhausted down to the marrow of his bones, lacking the motivation to do much more than sit outside in silence.

The only thing that Eugene finds himself looking forward to is the mail delivery. Every day he hopes the mailman will deliver a letter containing an address in Louisiana and an excuse to leave Mobile and its strange sameness behind. But despite his anxious excitement, nothing comes. 

He has wretched nightmares that torment him every time he manages to fall asleep. The memories of who he couldn’t save play like a film reel behind his eyelids. When his brain seems to tire of replaying these images, it creates new ones of all of Eugene's loved ones ruined and dead before him. Nights that he doesn’t wake screaming are rare and noteworthy. He sees Father’s shadow underneath the door some nights when he’s woken up drenched in his own sweat and it fills him with shame to know that his father is witnessing his childish nightmares. He sees the crease between his father’s eyebrows when he looks at his youngest son and he does his best to deter any conversations about his dreams. To keep from having nightmares Eugene starts avoiding sleep. He goes to bed late and sets his alarm for early in the morning but he hardly ever sleeps long enough to hear it. 

Most mornings Eugene isn’t sure how to motivate himself to get out of bed. What’s the point of rising and dressing and faking smiles just so he can fall back into misery when the night turns? His days are empty and listless but he can't find any drive to keep himself busy. There are some days where Eugene stays in bed the whole day, leaving only to eat and use the bathroom. 

He knows that his parents are worried about him, Father especially. Edward Sledge has spent the bulk of his career working with men who’d come home from a war a little less whole than they were when they went into it. He knows, or at least can guess at what Eugene’s seen and what he’s going through now. He knows what men can turn to when the war takes too heavy of a toll on a man’s mind. Eugene knows that Father is watching him closely to make sure his misery doesn’t turn to anything more destructive than it already is. Eugene wishes that he could find some way to reassure his father, to convince him that he’s too exhausted to make any effort to harm himself. 

It’s strange to Eugene that the only real mark the war left on his body is the scar on his thigh. It’s a wicked-looking thing, make no mistake, but he feels that his whole body should be damaged and marred to match how his soul feels. Some days he’ll pause in front of the mirror when he’s changing and just look at his leg. The scar is about four inches long and has made a sort of indent in his flesh. It’s dark pink, one line surrounded by stitch marks that make him feel like a broken toy that was badly repaired. Eventually he turns his mirror to the wall so it won’t catch his eye anymore. 

It doesn’t take Mother long to get fed up with having Eugene idle around the house. She keeps pushing at Eugene to make plans for his future, to be an active participant in his own life. He’s not sure how to make her understand that he’s succeeding every day he manages to pull himself up and out of bed. Getting out of his pajamas and into real clothes is him being an active participant. Eating and drinking to sustain his body is a victory. The mere act of existing is about all the effort Eugene can manage these days.

Father is much more forgiving. “Eugene’s earned his right to be still, Mary Frank. Leave him be.” Eugene overhears his parents talking in the dining room one morning as he quietly makes his way down the hall to the kitchen. There’s a breeze coming in through the screen door at the end of the hall, and it blows the hems of his pajama pants around his ankles. He feels vaguely ashamed that his parents are having this hushed conversation about him but at the same time he feels utterly numb.

“Idle hands are the Devil’s tools, Edward.” Mother sounds so self-righteous that Eugene simultaneously wants to roll his eyes and rip all of the hair out of his head. “He’s got so much potential. He could be something great if he just applied himself.”

“He’s already proved himself to be a great man.” Eugene is surprised to feel his eyes go misty at his father’s praise. “I don’t want to hear any more about it. He’ll make himself busy when he’s ready.” He hears the soft sound of his father giving his mother a kiss before he turns around and goes back into his bedroom and crawls back into bed.

  


* * *

  


Eddie tries to be more understanding. One morning just as the sun has finished rising, Eddie finds Eugene in the back garden on a blanket laid out on the green, well-manicured grass. Eugene is half-dressed in slacks and his undershirt - he’d gotten tired halfway through dressing and decided he was presentable enough to lie in his own yard. He’s puffing away on his pipe as he soaks up the warm Alabama sun, and he doesn’t bother turning as he hears Eddie’s footsteps approach.

“Mornin’,” Eddie greets him, groaning a little as he lowers himself onto the blanket next to Eugene. He’s in his uniform for some reason that Eugene can’t immediately think of. A lot of the veterans around town still wear their uniforms when they go out and it confuses Eugene every time he sees it. They’re not comfortable and he can’t imagine choosing to put on a uniform again when he’s got a whole closet full of other clothes to wear. Maybe Martha likes it so Eddie puts it on for her.

“Mornin’,” Eugene responds in a neutral but not unkind voice. 

Eddie hands him a cup of coffee. Eugene wrinkles his nose at it until Eddie discreetly takes out a flask and shakes it. A reluctant smile spreads across Eugene’s face and he holds out his cup to let Eddie pour a generous amount of what smells like whiskey into it. Eddie pours somewhat less into his own. 

"How on Earth is it that you hate coffee but don't mind whiskey?" Eddie laughs a little as he takes a sip of his coffee. "I'll never understand it."

Eugene hums a little. “I couldn't tell ya. Shitty army coffee ruined it for me forever.” Eddie laughs, but it tapers off when Eugene lets loose a massive yawn that makes his jaw click. When he manages to get his mouth closed again, he stares off into the distance again. He knows he doesn’t look well - he sees it every morning when he brushes his teeth. His eyes have such dark circles that they almost look bruised and his thinness throws the shadows on his face into sharp contrast. He’s so tired that he feels like his eyes can’t quite focus on anything as sharp as they’re supposed to and his brain feels fuzzy and dull.

Eddie notices the huge yawn and clears his throat. “I had trouble sleepin’ when I got back too.” Eddie’s watching him when Eugene glances over and the intensity in his gaze makes Eugene look away again. “I used to have nightmares about my tank explodin’ and not bein’ able to get out. Or gettin’ out but nobody else does.” He shakes his head like he’s trying to dislodge the image from his mind. “I’m surprised Martha didn’t ask me to sleep on the couch with all my tossin' and turnin'. She’s a good woman.” He sighs a little and drinks some of his spiked coffee. After a moment he reaches out and puts a hand on Eugene’s shoulder. “It gets easier.”

“I’ve been havin’ nightmares since D-Day,” Eugene admits in a hoarse voice. “It hasn't ever gotten better. I don’t know how much more of it I can take.” He pulls his knees up to his chest, careful not to spill his coffee. “I hate sleep. I spent the whole war wishin’ I could have more of it but now that I’m home I wish I never had to sleep at all.”

When he turns to rest his cheek on his knees to look over at his brother, he finds a sorrowful expression on Eddie’s face. “I wish none of it had ever happened to you, Eugene.” Eddie’s always been protective of him. It figures that he’d want to protect Eugene from his own mind as well.

There are parts of Eugene’s time in the war that he wouldn’t trade for anything. The friendships he’d formed and the love he’d found are worth a million nightmares to him. But right here and now so tired he aches, he can’t help but nod. “Yeah. Me too.”

They sit in silence for a while after that, making themselves comfortable amidst the sounds of the trees rustling in the wind and the birds singing in the distance. Eddie nurses his coffee and Eugene repacks his pipe and sets to smoking it again. Eddie leans back, making himself comfortable. “I got promoted at the bank. I’m a supervisor now.”

Eugene keeps his face completely straight, not even turning to glance at his brother. “Better get our money outta that bank.” He turns and grins at Eddie as his brother throws a wad of grass at his head. 

“I’m tryin’ to be serious here,” Eddie says laughingly. “I just mean that I can get you a job if you want one. It won't be luxurious but it might take your mind off of everythin’ else.”

The thought of working in a bank makes Eugene want to drown himself in the creek. “I appreciate it, Eddie. But I think I need a little more time doin’ nothin’ before I find a job.” He doesn’t feel human enough to be productive. He feels like a hollow shell with shadows rattling around inside of him.

  


* * *

  


Sid and Mary have their wedding in April of 1946. It’s a beautiful thing. Fresh flowers cover every possible surface, the weather is warm and bright, and the pure joy on Sid’s face makes everything that much better. He and Mary look at each other with such elated love and devotion that it almost breaks Eugene’s heart to see it. He couldn’t be happier to stand beside his best friend and watch him pledge himself to the woman he loves, but he can’t help but think of the person who used to look at him that way, the one he used to look at like they hung the moon. 

Eugene doesn’t wear his uniform. Sidney is resplendent in his dress blues and all the other veterans in attendance are dressed in their military finest, but Eugene can’t bring himself to put it on. It’ll always carry the stench of blood on it even though it never saw combat once. 

Mary is as sweet and lovely as she’s always been. Halfway through the reception she walks up to Eugene in her long lace gown so white he almost has to shade his eyes against it. She holds out her hand to him. “Excuse me Mr. Sledge, but I do think I’ll claim your next dance for myself.” Her eyes crinkle as she grins at him and wiggles her fingers. 

“I can’t say no to the boss.” Eugene smiles back and puts his hand in hers before he lets himself be pulled out onto the floor. He keeps his hand high up on her waist as they twirl softly, letting himself enjoy the feeling of silk underneath his hand. The band is playing Glenn Miller’s “I Dream of Jeannie With the Light Brown Hair” - one of Eugene’s favorites. He wonders if Sid said as much to Mary.

“When’s the last time you danced, Eugene?” Mary’s voice is laughing but not accusatory even after he’s stepped on her toes. 

“I danced with a woman older than your granny in Holland in ‘44, thank you very much. Granted, there wasn’t any real music and she led, but it was still dancin’.” Mary tilts her head back and laughs as he grins at her.

“You shoulda asked her for a few more lessons.” They spin in happy silence for a few more moments and when Eugene meets her eyes again, her face is serious. “I want you to know that I’m not gonna take him from you. It’ll be more like me gainin’ you than you losin’ him.”

Damn, but Mary’s smart. Eugene figures she must know he’d try and run from a serious conversation about feelings and so she’s ambushing him during a dance where he’s too polite to flee from her. Hiding his discomfort, Eugene half-fakes a laugh. “Well, you can gain me if you want to but I was countin’ on you takin’ him off my hands. He’s your trouble now.” 

She laughs like she knows exactly what he’s doing and pinches his shoulder. “I mean it Eugene! I know you and I were never close at school but you’re Sidney’s family which makes you my family. So I better see you around for dinner at least twice a month. And when babies come - and there will be babies comin’ someday, mark my words - I want you to take as much joy in them as we do. Am I understood?” She says this rather pointedly and Eugene wonders just how much Sid’s told Mary about him and his likelihood of having children of his own in the future. 

There’s a lump in his throat as he nods. “I understand you loud and clear, ma’am.” 

“I know it must be strange, bein’ home. I saw how hard it was for Sidney when he came back. You come to ours anytime you need a breather.” 

Her offer is kind and likely genuine but he knows he won’t take her up on it. He’d never force his misery onto newlyweds who are starting their new life in joy and love. When the song ends, he presses a kiss to her powdered cheek. “You’re too good for him.” He smiles as she laughs. 

Sid walks over and, in a move that seems much too smooth for him he puts a hand on Mary’s waist and spins her into his arms. “I think I’ve waited long enough, Mrs. Phillips.” He nods to Eugene before leading his bride back onto the dancefloor, leaving Eugene and his plastered-on smile behind.

  


* * *

  


Despite his general apathy toward the world around him, Eugene's mother manages to convince him to do something. She tells him about a college enrollment conference that's being put on downtown by some of the best Alabama colleges and universities. Despite Eugene's misgivings he agrees to go. Maybe learning and classes are what he needs. 

The woman behind the desk is lovelier than a summer day with a fair, rosy complexion and light blonde hair that’s been tamed into fashionable twists. “You lookin’ to register for classes, Mr…” Her light eyes flit down to the paperwork he’s just handed her. “Sledge?” She’s got a soft voice made round by her Alabama accent. It’s strange to Eugene that all he hears now are Alabama accents. He misses the nasal tone of Long Island, the broad lazy one of Massachusetts, the syrupy drawl of Louisiana.

Eugene smiles crookedly at her, pushing his homesickness for a place no longer his home out of his mind. “I’m thinkin’ about it.” 

“Good choice. Alabama Polytechnic is the best.” She smiles as she says it, looking down at the paperwork again. In a different world Eugene thinks he’d probably be smitten by her. This is the type of girl he knows his mother wants him to bring home and settle down with. “Which branch did you serve in?”

Eugene squeezes his hands together behind his back and realizes that he’s standing in parade rest without even meaning to. “The Army, miss.”

She hums as she makes a note of it. “And did you attend any special schools while you were in the Army, Mr. Sledge?”

Furrowing his brow, Eugene stares down at her. “I don’t… uh… boot camp. Parachuting.” He can hear the uncertainty in his voice and something that feels like dread starts to unfurl deep in his stomach. He glances around at the veterans on either side of him trying to hear if they’re being asked the same questions or if their answers are any more confident.

“Did you do any accounting?”

Eugene scoffs in wry amusement. The image of him frantically trying to use a mechanical calculator in the midst of a battle comes to his mind. “No, miss.”

“Any journalism?”

“None at all.” His amusement is starting to fade and he can feel his smile slipping off of his face. 

“Any engineering? Technical skills?”

Eugene feels his ears start to heat as the sound of his own heart gets louder. He can’t bring himself to meet her eyes. Despite the fact that he's done nothing wrong he feels ashamed and lacking. “I was a medic.”

“We don’t have a medical school.” She sounds very disappointed in his lack of foresight that he didn’t have Alabama Polytechnic in mind when he was chosen to be a medic. “Didn’t the Army teach you anything that’d be useful at ‘Bama Poly?”

After everything that Eugene has seen and done, it sounds now like he's being told that he's not good enough for this goddamn college. Shifting out of parade rest, Eugene unclenches his fists and sets his hands on her desk, leaning in close and making direct eye contact with her. “They taught me how to keep a man’s guts inside his body when they’re falling out. I know how to decide if someone’s too far gone to save. I know where on a man’s body’ll kill him fastest when he’s shot and I know how to kill him with nothin' but a needle and my bare hands.” His voice is low and cruel and unkind and he can’t find a single part of him that feels sorry for it. It's not like him - he's usually polite and kind whenever he can be but he's at his wit's end.

As Eugene pulls back from the lovely blonde recruiter, he watches as her cheeks flush red with fear or shame and takes a grim sort of satisfaction from her obvious discomfort. He’d never hit a lady but he wishes for a moment that she were a man so he could just lay her out. He can feel his disgust for her on his face, a sharp contrast from the looks that he's sure young men usually give her. He pushes off of her desk, his eyes sweeping over the crowd of veterans, and he leaves the building and the thought of college behind.

  


* * *

  


Every day for almost six months Eugene waits for the mailman to come like he’s some sort of deranged puppy. He sorts through the letters frantically looking for a New Orleans return address but it never comes. Jay writes to him regularly, talking about life back in California, his job, his new girl (and then the girl after that and the one after her, too). He gets a letter about once a month from Burgie checking in on him, and an invitation to his wedding. (Eugene doesn’t end up going to the wedding but he sends along a present and the most genuine well-wishes he’s ever given.) Bill writes often and tells him about all the nurses he flirted with and how he hasn’t bought a drink for himself since he’s been back in New York. He invites Eugene to his wedding to a miss Mary Keen who he says is the toughest broad he’s ever met. Eugene even hears from Redifer, Womack, and Barrie. But he never once hears from Snafu and eventually he stops waiting for the mailman.

Eugene knows that he could hunt Snafu down if he really wants to. He could grease some palms and get the location of the post office nearest to Snafu’s family and reach out to them. But he figures that if Snafu wanted to stay in touch with him, he would have reached out like he’d promised to. Eugene doesn't want to make a nuisance of himself and try to start up something that Snafu only wanted in wartime. So even though he knows that he could have Snafu’s address in a few months if he put some work into it, he takes the radio silence as the sign that it is. Snafu is done with him.

His heart is shattered. Of course it is. Snafu is and always will be Eugene’s first love, and that love hasn’t faded with time or distance like he’d assumed it would. But there’s a part of Eugene that isn’t surprised, that had always expected Snafu to walk out of his life and never walk back in. The ache in his chest doesn’t abate, doesn’t get better, but he learns to live with it as a constant companion. He truly hopes that Snafu, wherever he is and whoever he’s with, has managed to find a sliver of the happiness that they could have had together.

* * *

Eugene and his father used to hunt regularly when Eugene was growing up. They’d go out in the early morning when the grass was still wet with dew and return home in the afternoon, proudly presenting Eugene’s mother with that night’s supper. Eddie would come with them sometimes but he was usually out with his buddies or dating some new girl. For the most part it was something that was shared just between Eugene and Father. 

When Father invites him to go hunting the next morning he sounds so pleased at the prospect of revisiting that part of Eugene’s childhood that Eugene doesn’t have it in him to refuse. He doesn’t sleep that night and when his hands tremble as he does up his shirt in the morning he tries to tell himself it’s just excitement.

They take Father’s truck out to the woods, the one that always reminded Eugene of a robin’s egg. There’s still a chill in the air as Eugene lets himself out of the truck. There’s sweat drenching his back and under his arms and his fingers are numb. The gun feels heavy and wrong in his hands where it never used to; he supposes three years is a long enough time to get him out of the habit of ever carrying one. 

As they walk through the woods toward the creek Eugene’s father, bless him, says, “I’ve been waiting for this morning for a long time. Just you and me and a grand morning.” 

The words are warm and genuine and Eugene knows that this is all his father wants, but all Eugene can hear are the birdsongs of his prey. All he can think of is shooting a dove with as little care as the Germans shot at him and his, watching the life bleed out of the bird and stain the ground below him as the other birds shriek in fear. And it suddenly occurs to Eugene that he can’t do this. The thought of seeing another living thing’s life vanish and it being Eugene’s fault (and it could have been Burgie, Jay, Bill, Snafu and it was Lucky, and that soldier on D-Day, and Hamm, and the soldier having a nightmare, and all of the Jews he was too late to help) is more than he can bear. He never wants to watch another thing die ever again.

The gun drops out of his numb fingers as he gasps for air. He falls to his knees as Father turns around to investigate the noise and Eugene sees his eyes go wide in fear. He wants to tell his father that he's alright, that he just needs a moment, but all he can do is pant and clench his numb fingers into a fist around his gun. “Eugene?”

In the next breath Eugene finds himself sobbing on the grass. Father rushes over, setting his gun aside as he kneels beside his broken son. He cradles Eugene’s head to his shoulder and Eugene leans hard into his embrace. “I’m sorry,” he gasps between wracking sobs, “I can’t.” 

“Oh my boy.” Eugene feels Father press a firm kiss to the top of his head the way he had when Eugene was sick or hurt as a child. “You don’t have to apologize to me.” Eugene feels small in his father’s arms and they sit for long moments as Eugene’s sobs echo through the trees around them.

  


* * *

  


For the first time since he's been home Eugene has some sort of idea about what it is that he wants. He finds comfort in the soft, muted noises of nature and in it's clean scents and fresh air. So the next day once he's recovered enough to get himself out of bed and away from the torture of his own mind, Eugene plants a garden. He plants himself a big flower garden full of things that attract birds and butterflies. 

He starts doing some gardening for his neighbors. It doesn't pay much but the dirt under his nails is worth more than money. His mother seems highly conflicted - she'd wanted Eugene to figure himself out and find some purpose, but she's disappointed that his choice is a job that household staff would do. But she says very little about it to Eugene's enormous relief. 

Eugene spends his time with birds and insects and animals, with trees and flowers and plants. It seems like some of the broken pieces inside of him have been mended, crudely stitched back together in a way that's ugly but effective. 

His heart is quiet. For the rest of his days, Eugene wants to be surrounded by life and living things that only die when God intends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had a lot of these scenes sitting in my googledocs for some time now. It feels really good to have them posted. 
> 
> The next chapter(s) might be a little bit longer in coming. I don't really have them written, and to be perfectly honest with you I have NO IDEA how I'm intending to wrap up the story or even where I'm taking it? But I've spent too much time and energy on this fic to abandon it! It will get finished!!!!
> 
> The chapter title comes from Ozzy Osbourne's Mama I'm Coming Home.


	10. I Know We'll Meet Again Some Sunny Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For long moments afterward, the letter sits heavy as a stone in his tingling fingers.
> 
> Eugene sits in his chair until the katydids and crickets start to sing. When he pulls himself out of his seat and makes his way back to the house, he's not entirely surprised to see his father waiting for him on the porch. Father had probably watched him spend most of the day sitting on the lawn, after all. A little worry wouldn't be unexpected. 
> 
> Eugene gets an unexpected letter.

Eugene throws himself into the care and maintenance of his garden. He rouses himself in the morning by reminding himself that the flowers need watering and the bird feeders need filling and it’s harder to wallow in his own misery when he has other living things counting on him. His skin reddens and darkens in the sun and freckles blossom across his cheeks and his arms that have been pale for too long. 

Eugene makes more of an effort to put on a mask of serenity and peace. He eats dinner with his folks every night, gets out of bed before midday, and changes into appropriate attire more often than not. It’s the best he can do. It helps to make him feel a little more human but it's no miracle cure. The darkness still clouds his brain most of the time, choking him and weighing him down. With each exhausting day that passes Eugene becomes more and more certain that he'll never get back to the way he was before the war. He's irrevocably damaged.

A few months after he puts in his garden Eugene comes inside for a lemonade and finds a letter addressed to him on the table by the back door. It’s got a return address from Jewett, Texas and Eugene smiles at the sight of it. It’s been about a year since Burgie's wedding and Eugene doesn’t hear from him quite as often as he did at the start. It's nothing that Eugene blames him for. He's sure if he had a new wife, writing to his old war buddies wouldn't be his priority either. He also knows that he's been a rotten correspondent. It usually takes weeks or months for Eugene to remember to reply and his replies are usually made of apologies and painful attempts at small talk. 

He tears open the envelope and slides out a little pink card. It has a picture of a baby and a stork on it with the words “Arrived Safe and Sound!” His heart swells with joy for Burgie as he reads all the details of his new baby girl. He can't remember if Burgie had told him that they were expecting in the past. He tries not to let the guilt eat at him too much. He can't change what's done. On instinct, he flips the card over and smiles to see Burgie’s familiar handwriting.

“Eugene,

I’m writing to announce the arrival of my firstborn, Maggie. She’s perfect and healthy in every way and I’m glad to report that she takes strongly after her mama. I'd hate to think of a little girl growing up with my face.

Flo and I would be so happy if you’d come to Maggie’s Christening in a few months. It's a big ask. I know it’s a long way from Mobile but I’d like you to meet her and Flo. I'd like to see you again too. I worry about all you jackasses spread across the country where I can't slap you for being stupid when you need it. I’m asking Jay and Bill to come as well, so it’ll be a reunion of sorts. Please say you’ll come. 

I’ve attached all the pertinent details below. Write me to tell me when your train gets in. 

Your friend, 

Burgie.”

Eugene is flattered by the invitation. At first he intends to write back with his regrets and well-wishes. He isn't sure he's up for a day-long train ride and the thought of seeing Burgie and Jay and Bill again makes anxiety churn in his stomach. They've all moved on from the war and started to make lives for themselves and he's stuck in homeostasis. While he's been able to mask the worst of his misery from his parents, he's not sure he'll be able to fool his friends. During the war they all became closer than brothers. They saw Eugene at his very worst and they saw it for what it is. He's certain that if he hadn't been able to hide from them during a war, he won't be able to do it in peacetime. 

He tucks the letter into the pocket in the lining of his favorite jacket and tries not to think about it. But every time he puts the jacket on, he can feel the outline of the letter pressing against his chest and his mind never strays far.

  


* * *

  


A few weeks after his invitation out to Texas comes in, Eugene gets a different sort of letter.

“Eugene,” Mother hollers off of the porch one afternoon. “There’s mail here for you.” She waves the letter in her hand as though he'll demand proof and Eugene can't help but roll his eyes.

Eugene pulls himself out of the dirt, clapping his hands a few times to dislodge some. He trudges through the lawn and back to the house, waving half-heartedly at his mother as she hands him the letter. He takes the letter back out into the lawn and sits down on the chair he's got set up under the gnarled oak tree. Once he's settled in, he takes a look at the paper in his hand. 

Strangely, there's no return address. However the envelope is stamped as being from overseas which strikes him as very odd. He's not sure he knows anyone overseas unless someone moved. His name is typed onto the envelope thereby robbing Eugene of any clues as to the sender that handwriting might have given him. He slides his pointer finger under the lip of the envelope. As he unfolds the letter, there’s a curiosity in him that he hasn’t felt in a long time. 

The letter is typed as well. Even just glancing it over, Eugene can pick out misspellings and typos that make him furrow his brow. His eyes drift down to the bottom of the page to find the name of the sender, and his breath catches in his throat. He goes back to the beginning to read the letter in its entirety. 

“Dear Mr. Sledge,

I hope you will not find my writing to be too strange or forward. We never spoke or even truly met one another, but we have a dear friend in common. 

In 1945, you and your companions freed me and many others from the Kaufering camp in Landsberg am Lech, Germany. This is where I met Merriell Shelton. He spoke my language to me when I wasn’t sure if any Jews still existed outside of us fellows in the camp. He gave me one of his dog tags at the time and told me to find him when the war was over. After that time, I spent many months in hospital in Germany recovering from my imprisonment. When I was well enough, I moved to the Föhrenwald camp. It was not safe for me to return to my home in Poland. Here I learned that my family was gone. 

All this time, I had held onto Merriell’s tag. After the war the Red Cross helped me find where Merriell’s family lived. He was not home from war yet but I wrote to his mother and sisters regularly. Now that he is home, I write to Merriell.

Merriell and his family have been kinder to me than I thought possible. They have treated me as their own and given me a family where I had none. I think of him as my brother. This is why I think I can speak to you frankly.

Merriell has been unhappy since arriving home. He works hard and spends time with his family but there is something not right. After reading about you for many months and in many letters, I think it is your absence that is wrong. It is not my place to meddle. I know this. But Merriell deserves happiness and I think it is hard for him to be happy without you. I also know that his unhappiness is his own doing but he should have a chance to explain himself.

My friend will be visiting Sgt. Burgin in Texas next month to celebrate the birth of Sgt. Burgin’s daughter. I cannot be sure that you were sent an invitation but from Merriell’s stories it is obvious you were all good friends. If it is possible for you to do so, I urge you to go to Texas as well if you ever still think of Merriell. If you have been as sad as he has, go to him and see him. I know better than most that our time with our loved ones can be fleeting.

Thank you for reading this letter Mr. Sledge. I feel I owe you a debt I can never repay. This is my first step to pay back both you and Merriell. I wish for your health and happiness.

Your friend,

Mosche Ginzburg.”  
  


* * *

  


It takes some time for Eugene to ground himself after he reads Mosche Ginzburg's letter. For long moments afterward the letter sits heavy as a stone in his tingling fingers. Out of everyone in the world that Eugene ever expected to get a letter from, Ginzburg would be pretty low on the list. Even if he had been able to imagine that Ginzburg would send him a letter, he would never have guessed that the letter would be about Snafu. 

Eugene sits in his chair until the katydids and crickets start to sing. When he pulls himself out of his seat and makes his way back to the house, he's not entirely surprised to see his father waiting for him on the porch. Father had probably watched him spend most of the day sitting stock still on the lawn after all. A little worry wouldn't be unexpected. 

Father claps him gently on the shoulder. "You alright son?" 

"I think so." Eugene hesitates a little, looking at his father. They stand at an even height now and they meet eye-to-eye and Eugene finds he can't quite remember when that happened. "I got a letter from an old friend."

"That so?" Father lights his pipe and Eugene suddenly wishes he'd brought his own out with him if only to give him something to do with his hands. 

"Yeah. Burgie. I mentioned him, right? He invited me to his wedding last year." Father nods, silently encouraging Eugene to continue. "He and his wife had a baby girl. He invited me to the Christening." The untruth twinges in Eugene's conscience but he beats it down. It's not like he's lying. Burgie DID send him a letter inviting him, it just isn't the letter that sent him into a stupor today. 

Father smiles, taking a puff of his pipe. "That was kind of him. Babies are always good news. Maybe soon we'll be getting some baby news around here ourselves." Despite knowing that Father is almost certainly talking about Eddie and Martha, guilt pricks at Eugene. There won't ever be news about a new baby coming from him. 

"Right. He sounds real happy. I was thinkin' I'd go." Father freezes for a moment and Eugene hastens to explain himself. "I've been feelin' better, and I think seein' the guys might do me some good."

"Where's he live?"

"Texas." Eugene's father doesn't say anything, and Eugene sighs. "I don't need your permission, Father." His voice is quiet and gentle, an echo of what he told his father a lifetime ago before he enlisted. "I'm 25. You don't have to worry about me."

"I will always worry about you, Eugene." Father sighs. "I'm your father. It's my God-given duty. But you're right that I can't stop you from goin'. I wouldn't want to. Gettin' out of Mobile might do you a world of good. But you'll have to promise to call or your poor Mother will be beside herself."

Eugene laughs and nods. "That I can do."

  


* * *

  
After getting Ginzburg's letter, Eugene can't seem to make up his mind about whether or not he wants to go out to Texas after all. Some days he'll wake up with every intention of buying himself a ticket out west but by that evening he'll have decided that going to Texas is nothing more than a bad idea.

Father asks a few times whether or not he's bought himself a train ticket but he seems to understand Eugene's difficulty making a choice. At the very least he doesn't judge him about it. 

Six months ago Eugene would have given anything to see Snafu again just one more time. But now, after all this time, he can't help but feel that both of them would be better off not seeing each other again. Snafu made his wishes and intentions clear when he didn't write Eugene a single word in a year and a half. Eugene feels that maybe he'd just be stirring up trouble by going out to Texas. 

Anger is never far behind when he argues with himself. It never is when it comes to Snafu. To hell with him, he thinks fiercely. Why should he stay away from his own friends just to placate Snafu? To make his life easier? When did Snafu ever consider his feelings, anyway? Why should Eugene be expected to isolate himself from some of the dearest friends he's ever made just for Snafu's benefit?

It's in one of these mindsets that Eugene drives Father's truck to the train station and buys a ticket for the next week. It's non-refundable. 

Eugene spends the next week packing and preparing and trying to think of anything except for the fact that Snafu is going to be on the other end of that train ride.

  


* * *

  


Eddie drives Eugene to the train station. They take Eddie's Chevy Fleetmaster and Eddie blasts Doris Day on the radio. Before they get into town, Eddie pulls the car over and shuts off the engine. Eugene furrows his brow in confusion at his brother. 

"What are you doin'? I'm gonna miss my train." A little bit of a whine creeps into Eugene's voice and Eddie snorts at him. Of course, this only serves to rile him up more. "Are you gonna buy me a new ticket, then?"

"Cool down Genie, we're runnin' early. You won't miss your train. I just wanted to talk at you a spell before you left." Despite his words, no conversation seems to be forthcoming. Eddie's gaze flickers between Eugene and his own hands on the steering wheel and Eugene would rather like to strangle him. 

"Eddie. What do you want to say?" He's rarely seen his brother uncertain before and there's something unsettling about it. 

Eddie lets out a sharp breath and curls his hands around the steering wheel. "Remember when I came and saw you in England?"

"Sure." Eugene is confused and irritated. He's not sure why Eddie wants to talk about England right now when he has a train to catch.

"That fella you introduced me to. The wise guy giving me the dirty look?"

Eugene's stomach leaps into his throat. "What about him?" He's been torturing himself with thoughts of Snafu since 1946, but hearing him mentioned by another person is surreal. He'd almost managed to convince himself that Snafu was just a figment of his imagination. 

"He got anythin' to do with this trip you're about to make?"

"What?" Eugene feels sweat gather at his temples and pool in the dip underneath his nose. Why is Eddie asking about Snafu now, after all this time? "No, my friend had a baby."

"Don't lie to me Eugene." Eddie sighs and lets his head thunk back against the headrest. "When I saw you over there, I was so surprised by how much you'd changed. You weren't the kid brother I'd left behind. You were a grown man with a whole life I didn't know about. You were confident and happy and it was even more noticeable when he came over."

Eugene feels like he's drowning. He feels like the car is filling up with water and spilling into his mouth and nose and lungs until all he can hear is the rushing of water. He gasps and jumps when Eddie reaches over and grabs his hand. 

"Breathe, god damn it." Eddie's voice is sharp, military, and Eugene finds himself obeying without thinking about it. 

Without even knowing what he intends to say, Eugene scrambles to defend himself. "Eddie, I…" Eugene's voice sounds weak even to his own ears. 

Eddie shakes his head. "Christ, Eugene. I'm sorry." His eyes are pained and his brow furrowed. "I didn't mean to spring it on you. Damn it." He's still got a firm grip on Eugene's hand and he squeezes harder for just a moment. One short moment, a flash of pain, and then the grip loosens again. 

"Eugene, I have always known that you were a little different. You never looked at girls like I did, like my friends did. It didn't bother me then, and it don't bother me now." His voice is firm and resolute. "You're the same little brother you've always been and I love you the same as I always have. You hear me?" He waits until Eugene nods to continue. "I'm talkin' to you because I don't want to see you get hurt." 

It's such a big brother thing to say that Eugene can't help but let out a slightly hysterical burst of laughter. "Sorry, I just… I served in a war and you're worried about a trip to Texas hurting me?"

"I was worried about you then too, dimwit." Eddie shoves him and Eugene lets himself get pushed against the warm glass of the car's window. "But this is different. I saw you happy and confident and then you came home and you… I don't even know how to explain it. You faded, Eugene. You were less present from one day to the next. It felt like maybe you had died over there and we got your ghost back. I couldn't figure it out. Why was being home killing you when you flourished in a war?"

Eugene winces. "I didn't know how to cope with being back," he mutters defensively. "How come I got to be back planning my future when I know a hell of a lot of guys who didn't?" 

"I'm sure that was part of it." Eddie nods. "And if you'd've said that three months ago I woulda believed you. But then you got that letter. Not the birth announcement. That other one, the one you lied to Father about." 

"I didn't lie," Eugene says hotly. "I just didn't tell him all the truth." It doesn't shock him that Eddie knows about it. Between his mother's big mouth, his father's suspicion, and Eddie's uncanny ability to get all up in his business he finds he'd rather expected it. 

Eddie rolls his eyes. "Excuse me, Mr. Semantics. All I'm saying is that since then there's been fire in you again. There hasn't been this kind of life in you since 1946, I don't reckon. And I got to thinkin' about what might have changed. What made the difference, you know?" He takes a deep breath. "And then I got to thinkin' about you and him - it was Shelton, right? - and how you two looked at each other when I was in England that day. And I don't need explanations. Your business is your business Gene, I mean it. But I think maybe he had a little somethin' to do with the way your hope just seemed to leave you when you got home. Just tell me, are you takin' a train out there just to come back broken again? I don't know if I could stand it." Eddie's voice breaks a little.

"Fuck," Eugene breathes. Somehow in all of this, it'd never really occurred to him what his brokenness might be doing to his family. He couldn't have helped it; his depression went deeper than any commitment to his family's happiness. But he never thought that his family might have felt anything about it other than a vague sort of worry as they went on with their idyllic, Norman Rockwell lives.

They sit in silence for a few moments while Eugene gathers his thoughts. "If you're askin' if I'll get hurt out there, I guess my answer is maybe." His voice is quiet but sure. "But I gotta do it, Eddie. I got a letter from a mutual acquaintance saying that he'll be out there for the Christening. It might be the last time I see him. It probably will be." The admission sticks in his throat, chokes him up a little. "But I can't leave things the way they are now. Even if I'm goin' out there to say goodbye, I have to do it. The not knowin' would kill me." 

Eddie takes a deep breath before he nods and reaches forward to turn the key in the ignition. "Then I guess all that's left is for me to tell you that, no matter what, I'll be waitin' at the train station to bring you home again."

He puts the car in drive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! This is a short chapter, but I'm working diligently on the next one which will hopefully be longer. 
> 
> I am committed to Eddie being a good brother. That's all I have to say about that. 
> 
> The chapter title is from We'll Meet Again by Vera Lynn. It's one of my favorites!


	11. Everything I Feel Returns to You Somehow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The train ride is dull, as Eugene has often found long journeys to be. The landscape between Alabama and Texas is interesting, but it blurs by too fast for Eugene to get a good look at any of it. He sleeps through their stop in New Orleans, thank God, and doesn't wake until they're nearly in Texas.
> 
> Eugene arrives in Jewett, Texas.

The train ride is dull as Eugene has often found long journeys to be. The landscape between Alabama and Texas is interesting but it blurs by too fast for Eugene to get a good look at any of it. He sleeps through their stop in New Orleans, thank God, and doesn't wake until they're nearly in Texas.

Eugene gets off the train at the tiny station in Jewett, Texas and he’s not quite sure what to do next. It's almost 5 p.m. and the light is fading from bright white to the purple gray of evening. He loosens his tie a bit as the conductor calls for any last passengers to get on or off the train. He’d sent a letter to Burgie with his arrival date and time and he knows he can count on Burgie getting him picked up someway or another but he’s not sure if he should look for Burgie, his dad, or some other random family member. He hefts his suitcase up a little higher, trying to get a more comfortable grip on it. The train starts to chug away and he turns to watch it leave. 

“Hey! Eugene!” 

A smile breaks across Eugene’s face before he even turns around. He knows that voice. When he looks back he sees Jay De L’Eau grinning at him as he slams the door to a rusty old pickup truck. “Jay De L’Eau, you son of a bitch.” They come together like a wave crashing, wrapping their arms tight around each other. 

“Burgie told me you were coming today and I volunteered to come get you.” Jay squeezes him and lets go. Eugene takes the moment to look him over. He’s gained weight since the end of the war and he looks healthy in a way Eugene isn’t sure he’s ever seen on him. His cheeks are flushed a healthy pink and the haunted look has somewhat left his eyes. 

“It’s damn good to see you, Jay.” He can feel himself getting choked up. Jay must notice it too, because he socks Eugene in the arm none too gently. 

"Yeah, you too." He grins. "Throw your shit in the back and let's get going. Everyone's really excited to see you."  
  


* * *

  
They ride along for a while in comfortable silence (or as comfortable as anything can be when driving over pitted and rutted dirt roads in a 15-year-old pickup truck) but it’s broken when Jay clears his throat. “There’s something I should tell you before we get back to Burgie’s.”

“You sound so serious, you might scare me off.” It’s a ridiculous idea. Eugene hasn’t been so happy in someone’s company since Austria. It feels like some part of him has slotted back into place after being just slightly amiss for years. He laughs, pulling his face away from the open window where he’d been letting the air rush over his cheeks. 

“Yeah, well.” Jay’s fingers tighten on the steering wheel and a tendril of anxiety unfurls in Eugene’s stomach at the sight of his white knuckles. It almost feels like instinct. When Jay's upset, Eugene has anxiety. A holdout from the war he supposes. “Snafu’s here.”

And that's the whole reason Eugene is here, really. He'd come all this way banking on the fact that Snafu would, in fact, be here. Even so, the air escapes from his lungs in a hiss and his stomach drops somewhere down to the muddy floor of the truck.

Jay pulls the truck over. It’s not necessary as there’s nothing but miles of farmland around them and certainly not any traffic - they could have stopped in the middle of the road and been just fine. He turns to look Eugene in the eye. “Burgie invited him on a whim. He found the middle-of-nowhere place that Mrs. Shelton lives and sent her a letter asking to pass on an invitation to Snafu and he figured that’d be the last of it. He never heard anything back from him. But then he turned up two days ago.” 

“I know.” Jay turns to look at him in surprise. Eugene sighs and lets his head fall to the edge of the window. He sounds tired even to his own ears. “It’s a long story but I kinda knew he’d be here.”

“Are you gonna be alright?” Jay sounds worried, nervous. Eugene wonders what his face is doing to elicit such a reaction.

“He never wrote to me. Did he tell you that?” Despite any attempts to keep himself cool and collected, he knows his anger is obvious in his tone. “I waited almost a year and I never heard from him, not once.” He turns to look at Jay. "The stupid bastard told me he'd write to me and then didn't even have the decency to tell me he was sick of me."

"Jesus Christ. That asshole," Jay breathes, shaking his head. Eugene watches his hair flop around his forehead - it's gotten long. "We assumed something had happened when you never mentioned being together to any of us and when Snafu just kind of fell off the edge of the world. But we didn't know what exactly had happened."

"He never said anything about it to any of you?" Eugene feels a little surprised. Snafu's bond with Burgie and Jay had already been well-cemented by the time Eugene ever even enlisted. 

"He never reached out to any of us. We've all tried to get in touch with him at one point or another, but our letters either got sent back or there wasn't any response. That's why Burgie never dreamed he'd actually show up to this. He just got into town a few days ago so none of us have had a chance to really talk to him."

Eugene nods. There's grief in Jay's eyes and Eugene knows only too well how that feels. "I'm sorry he did that to you guys. You deserved better."

Snorting, Jay pulls the truck back onto the road. "We all did, Eugene. You too. Especially you."  
  


* * *

  
Eugene tries to convince Jay to drop him off in the nearest town so he can get a room, that he'll see Burgie first thing in the morning, but Jay insists that Burgie will flay him alive if he doesn't bring Eugene straight back to the house. By the time they get to Burgie's ranch it's solidly dark and the sky is bright with stars unimpeded by buildings or trees. 

It's hard to tell in the dark, but from the silhouette that Eugene can see it looks like Burgie's living in a good-sized farmhouse with a big wrap-around porch that goes around the whole house. When Jay turns off the truck the headlights die along with the engine and only the light flooding out from inside the house illuminates their path up to the porch. 

As they approach the front door, it's flung open and Burgie stands grinning in the doorway. "Eugene Sledge, as I live and breathe." Eugene grins back and sets his suitcase on the creaking boards of the porch. They shake hands for a moment before Burgie pulls him forward into a brusque hug. "Glad to see you." 

"Yeah, you too." Eugene grins and gives Burgie a firm hug in response. 

Burgie lets him go and steps forward to grab his suitcase. "Come on, get in here. You're lettin' the bugs in." 

Eugene steps into the foyer and smiles as he looks around him. It's a lovely old farmhouse with good bones and a traditional kind of set-up but there's something about the decorating that strikes Eugene as being distinctly British. "Let the missus redecorate?" 

Burgie laughs and shrugs. "It's not like I care. If she’s happy, I’m happy. Come on in. The baby's asleep finally but Flo's just through here." 

“Wait.” A throb of anxiety floods through Eugene and he grabs Burgie’s arm. “Is… uh, is Snafu here? I mean, is he in there?” He’s trying hard not to sound as terrified as he feels. He’s worn down from a day of travel and the conversation he had with his brother before he even left. He’s not sure he can take a confrontation tonight. 

Burgie’s face goes a little soft. “He went up to bed a few hours ago. He's been wakin' up real early.”

Eugene lets out a breath of relief. “Right. Did he know I was comin’?”

“Well…” Burgie and Jay exchange glances. “He knows you’ll be here for the Christening but I don’t think he knows you were gettin’ in tonight. Neither of us said it explicitly but he was awake when Jay left, so maybe he does. Hey.” Burgie slung an arm around Eugene’s shoulders. “Don’t worry about it right now, okay? You just got here. Let’s go say hi to Flo and then I’ll get you a beer.” 

Eugene lets himself be led into the living room. As they walk in, a woman who must be Florence stands to greet them. Her dark hair is down in loose, brushed-out curls. She’s not a stunning beauty but she’s got a warmth about her that makes her all the more lovely. She looks tired in the way that Eugene imagines all new mothers probably look. She steps forward. “You must be Eugene.” Her voice is soft and sweetly accented in a way Eugene hasn’t heard since they left England for the last time.

“Yes ma’am.” Eugene steps forward with a hand out. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Burgin.” 

Florence waves his hand aside and pulls him into a friendly hug. “Please call me Flo. Anyone who’s saved my husband’s sorry butt so many times can call me by my Christian name.” 

“Alright, Flo then.” He grins. “I’ve heard so much about you. Burgie never stopped talking about you when we were over there.”

“Is that so?” Flo cuts eyes over at her husband who sweeps in to press a kiss to her cheek. Their happiness is obvious and Eugene is filled with longing. He tries not to let himself think of the fact that the man he thought he’d spend his forever with is asleep somewhere above his head, nearer than he’s been in two years. But even though he tries to distract himself, he feels his misery creeping through his chest again. Fatigue takes hold of him and he has to cling to the back of the sofa to keep himself upright. 

“I’m so sorry, I know I just got here but I think the trip is catchin’ up with me.” Eugene looks at Burgie and Flo apologetically. He notices the concern on Burgie and Jay’s faces and hopes desperately that they don’t try and get him to explain, that they'll just take him at his word and let him go to bed.

Flo comes to his rescue, bless her. “Goodness, no need to apologize!” She pats his hand. “Romus can show you where you’ll be sleeping. It’s so nice to finally meet you, Eugene. Rest up.” 

After thanking her for her hospitality, Eugene follows Burgie upstairs. The hallway has at least five doors and Burgie leads him into the first door on their right. It opens into a smallish bedroom with a full sized bed beneath a large window. Burgie flips the switch by the door and the room is flooded with soft yellow light. The room is painted a soft blue that’s strangely calming. Eugene sets his suitcase next to the bed and sits on it heavily. 

“You alright Sledgehammer?”

Eugene lets out a mirthless, quiet laugh. “No one’s called me Sledgehammer in two years.” He drags his hands over his face. “I’m just tired. Can’t believe I’m here in the same space as him after all this time.”

Burgie lets out a low noise of agreement and sits next to him on the bed. “He’s in the room at the end of the hall to the right.” When Eugene glances at him he shrugs. “I’m not saying you should go see him but if you wanted to know where he’s at, that’s where.” 

“Thanks.” Eugene pushes his shoes off by stepping on the heels, kicking them a short distance away. “I don’t even know what I’m supposed to say to him.”

“Yeah, me neither. Just don’t hit him, alright? Or at least wait until after the Christening. I don’t want to explain to my parents why my buddies are at the church all beat up.”

Eugene snorts. “Yeah, alright. I guess I can promise that.” Burgie stands and starts to walk away. “Hey Burgie?” Burgie turns back and raises his eyebrows. “Thank you for invitin’ me and puttin’ me up. It means a lot to be here.”

“‘Course. You’re family, Eugene.” Burgie smiles and slips out the door, shutting it behind him. 

Between the darkness of the room and the breeze coming in through the window, Eugene falls asleep in what feels like moments. He’s surprised to find that the room is still pitch dark when he opens his eyes next. He whines tiredly in the back of his throat, annoyed to be awake and not sure of what woke him in the first place, and he almost doesn’t hear the sound of the door closing.

As the door latches with a soft ‘click’, Eugene shoots up so fast he makes himself dizzy. He stands in the darkness of his room, his heart pounding not from fear but from shock and an odd sense of having missed something. He tiptoes to the door and presses his ear against the wood. He can hear the sound of bare feet moving swiftly but quietly back down the hall. He opens his door and peeks out just in time to see the door at the end of the hall to the right closing. 

A part of Eugene’s brain is screaming at him to go down the hallway and force Snafu to face him when they’re both awake, but he can’t get his feet to obey. He also knows, logically, that it’d be a bad idea that would very probably result in both of them being thrown out of the house. There’s a sleeping baby in one of these rooms and he can’t be sure that he won’t lose his temper and scream at Snafu like he’s been wanting to do since 1946. 

So he walks numbly back to his bed and slides back under the homemade quilt, curling up into a small ball. And even though his mind is racing, he finds that it takes no time at all for him to be lulled back into sleep.  
  


* * *

  
Eugene wakes again to the sound of someone knocking on his door. He grumbles a little, and only cracks an eye open when he hears someone come into the room. 

“Fuck off, Jay,” he mumbles. Jay laughs and sets something down on the nightstand. 

“Is that any way to talk to the man who just brought you coffee?” 

“I hate coffee.” Eugene squints at him, annoyed, before he forces himself to sit up.

Jay snorts at him. “Lookin’ good.” He laughs again as Eugene gives him the middle finger. “Our gracious hostess asked me to come and wake you up. She’s making breakfast for everyone and you have to come meet little Maggie.” 

“Right.” Eugene runs a hand through his hair to try and tame it down to something presentable. “Is Snafu awake?”

“Yeah.” Jay picks at one of his nails, not making eye contact with Eugene. “He and Burgie went fishing this morning at the ass crack of dawn. They said they needed some time to work some shit out. Hey, maybe you and Snaf should take a fishing trip too.”

“Only if you want to see me arrested for drownin’ a man,” Eugene says darkly as he stands. He drains his coffee with a grimace. “I’ll get dressed and come down. I just need a minute.”

Jay nods and watches him carefully. “Yeah, alright. Don’t take too long.”

As Jay departs and closes the door behind him, Eugene flops back onto the bed. The ceiling fan above him whirs lazily and Eugene can feel the breeze it generates tickling his hair. He’s sorely tempted to hide in this room until Snafu goes back to Louisiana but he knows he can’t. Sure, he decided to come to Texas after he knew that Snafu would be here too but he’s also here to see his friends and meet little miss Maggie. He groans and pulls himself out of bed and over to his suitcase. 

He pulls on a pair of khaki pants and a windowpane patterned button-up that he rolls up to his elbows. He slides his suspenders up over his shoulders and looks at himself in the mirror. His hair is still a mess so he runs his hand through it to get it to lie flat again. He looks tired but he figures he’s looked tired since 1943 and there’s not much he can do about it now. 

He pads down the stairs in bare feet. It’s already hotter than hell outside and he can’t bring himself to put on shoes or socks just yet. He can hear Flo and Jay laughing in the kitchen so he heads that way. He looks through the doorway and finds Jay eating at the kitchen table and Flo making eggs at the stove. In a wooden high chair is a blue-eyed, pink-cheeked baby who is waving around a messy hand and babbling. Eugene smiles. When he walks through the door, Flo turns to grin at him. 

“Good morning! Sit down, please. I’ll make you some breakfast.” 

“You don’t have to,” Eugene protests. “I can make my own food.” Eugene isn’t much of a cook admittedly, seeing as he's had someone else prepare every meal for him since his birth, but he can feed himself if he sets his mind to it. A flash of Merriell cooking for all of them in the farm house in Austria runs through his mind.

“Don’t you dare,” Flo scolds him, turning back to the stove. “You’re my guest. Make yourself comfortable.”

Eugene takes an empty seat next to the baby, grinning at her. He’s had minimal experience with babies but he’s always liked them. Their carefree nature and easy smiles never fail to charm him. “You must be Maggie.” The full force of Maggie’s attention turns to him and she beams. He holds out a hand and her pudgy little fingers wrap around one of his. 

After breakfast Jay and Eugene volunteer to give Flo a break and take Maggie for a little walk through the garden. It’s not as green as Alabama and the grass is tinged with beige in the way grass gets when it’s simply too hot and dry. But there’s enough birds and bugs and other critters to keep Eugene busy. They find a nice, shaded place to sit under a broad old tree and the two men fuss over Maggie as they get situated. 

Eugene gets the baby settled in his lap. He makes sure all of her delicate skin is completely out of the sun even if it means that some of his skin is exposed and burning. As they sit he carefully shows her an anole lizard that’s resting on the bark of the tree. “See that pretty stripe on its back? What color is the stripe?”

“She’s not gonna answer, you know,” comes a wry voice from behind them. Eugene twists around to see Burgie standing there with his arms crossed and a smile on his face. 

But he’s not alone. Standing behind him is Snafu and that ever-familiar, unsettlingly focused gaze is resting right on Eugene. In the fleeting moment that Eugene gives himself to look, he sees that Snafu actually looks pretty good. He’s wearing brown slacks cuffed at the ankles and an irritatingly bright aloha shirt that’s probably opened a button or two beyond where it should be. He’s put on some weight since the end of the war and his face is a little fuller than Eugene ever remembers seeing it. His hair is longer than the old military standard and curls around his ears. The curl fascinates him. It looks like if he tugged on one it would bounce right back to its shape as soon as he let go. Before it even occurs to Eugene that he’s staring like a moron he averts his eyes and focuses back on Maggie. 

“I know but it never hurts to ask, just in case.” Maggie squeals when she sees her daddy and Burgie swoops in to cradle her against his chest and press kisses all over her face. Eugene smiles at the adorable display but he’s still acutely aware of Snafu’s gaze on him, suffocating him and setting his heart to racing. “We were discussing lizards.”

“You’re gonna turn my baby girl into a goddamn nerd, Sledgehammer.” Eugene hears Snafu snort and he feels his own spine stiffen. What right does Snafu have to think he's a nerd? He has to rein his tongue in before he lashes out. Snafu deserves every last word he gets thrown at him but Eugene won’t do it in front of the others and especially not in front of Maggie. 

“She’ll be in good company.” Eugene stands and wipes his hands on the front of his trousers. “Catch anythin’?” He makes sure that all of his words are very clearly aimed at Burgie. 

Burgie shakes his head. “No. I figured taking some swamp dweller with me would give me a chance but nothin’ bit the whole time we were out.” Eugene’s not sure how much they paid attention to the fish in actuality. He figures they went out and screamed at each other for a while and got it all out of their systems before they shared a few beers and came home. He’s jealous. He doubts it’ll be that easy to heal any wounds between him and Snafu.

"Some breadwinner you are." Eugene holds his arms out for Maggie again just out of wanting to have something to hold onto and Burgie hands her over. He feels vaguely ashamed at himself for using an infant as an emotional and physical shield but he feels too vulnerable with nothing but empty arms. He presses his nose against her soft dark hair and tries to calm himself with the smell of a clean baby. It works but only a little. When his eyes dart back to Snafu, that gaze is even more intent and heavy on him. 

Just as the silence starts to stretch into something awkward and uncomfortable, Jay plucks Maggie from his arms with ease. He tosses her up into the air causing her to shriek with delight and Burgie to lurch forward to try and catch her if Jay should fail. He doesn't, of course, and Maggie lands in his arms giggling and safe. "Burgie, let's go in and get this little girl some food. I think Sledge and Snaf need to have a chat."

"No." Eugene feels more than hears the objection get wrenched out of his throat. He has to stamp down hard on the plea for them not to leave him alone. "That's not necessary." Snafu stands silent as a corpse. Eugene is keenly aware of the fact that he hasn't heard him say a word in over two years. 

Jay rolls his eyes. "Yeah, sure." He starts to walk toward the house. Burgie follows after him.

"Wait!" Eugene tries to step forward but his arm is grabbed before he can take more than a couple of steps. He turns, snarling like a beat-down dog getting its tail pulled.

"You know they're right, Sledgehammer. Let's just get it over with." Snafu's voice is low and hoarse which adds more evidence to Eugene's theory that Burgie and Snafu just yelled at each other all morning. But for all that it sounds rough and ill-used, the sound of it still makes Eugene weak at the knees. 

His two traitorous friends pick up their pace and are out of earshot much faster than Eugene would have expected.

"What the hell makes you think that I have anything to say to you?" Eugene's voice is pure venom as he rips his arm free from Snafu's grasping fingers. He wants nothing more than to make Snafu hurt and suffer the same way he has all these years. 

Snafu's face stays stony and his gaze remains unflinching. "I think we both know that you do. I reckon you got a lotta things you want to say to me." 

Eugene laughs, bitter and biting. "It's rich that you think you know anything about me anymore."

Snafu's face finally shifts into something hovering around hurt and stricken. "I know you, Gene."

"You don't know shit." Eugene can feel his face go red and ugly. "I ain't the same stupid kid you lied to during the war."

"I barely lied to you," Snafu bites back sharply. "Everythin' I said about how I feel was true." 

"You told me you'd write to me! You told me you'd tell me where you were at so I could come down and meet you! That's one hell of a lie, Snafu. I'd say it erases all the other shit you told me." 

"It doesn't." Snafu takes a step closer to him, so intense that he almost seems threatening. "It doesn't change anythin'."

"The hell it doesn't." Tears flood Eugene's eyes and he ducks his head to hide them. They make him even angrier than he was before. Snafu doesn't deserve his tears and he'll be damned if he seems even weaker in this moment than he already feels. "You played me for a fool. You let me think that I had a future I could look forward to."

"The whole point was to make sure you had a good future!" Snafu throws his hands up. "That was the whole fuckin' reason I never wrote."

"What are you talkin' about? You think I've been able to live any sort of life worth livin' since I got home?" Eugene scoffs. "You're even more stupid than I thought." 

That seems to spur Snafu on. “How the fuck was I supposed to ask you to give up your life for me, Eugene?” His voice is loud and sharp, anger thrumming through his tone.

“I wanted to, you stupid son of a bitch! I wanted to be with you!”

“Yeah, you did then! But how long would it have taken you to realize you’d made a mistake? Eugene, you couldn’t have gone to college because we both woulda had to work and we would've never afforded it. You woulda moved away from your friends and your family to a place where all you had was me. Your parents woulda disowned you if they knew how we were. We’d be livin’ in a shitty apartment in a shitty part of town with no fine things, workin’ our asses off for next to nothin’. You deserve a better life than that, Eugene.”

“There’s no such thing as a better life if it ain’t got you in it.” Eugene’s voice is hot and he’s ashamed of the tears that prick at the corners of his eyes. “I would have lived on the streets if it meant I got to be with you.” 

“And that’s why I had to be the one to put a stop to it.” There’s pain in Snafu’s voice now. “You loved me enough to give up everything for me. I love you enough that I couldn’t let you.”

They stand staring at one another for a breath, Eugene's face pale and Snafu's flushed. Eugene shakes his head. "You don't get to decide the life I live, Snafu. That was never your right. This is MY life." He jabs his fingers into his breast bone. "If I want to be poor and happy, that's MY choice.

"The past two years have been... I was happier in Bastogne than I've been at home. I could hardly pull myself out of bed in the morning. I was missin' you so bad I felt like I was already dead. I didn't even have the energy to put myself out of my fuckin' misery." Snafu flinches and Eugene relishes in his little victory for a moment before the anger and energy slowly drain from him. "Unhappiness isn't the worst thing. Knowin' what bein' happy felt like and then losin' it is worse."

They're quiet for a long moment. "I never wanted to hurt you, Gene."

"But you did. God, you did." Eugene rubs his eyes with his fingers. "I'm goin' for a walk."

"Eugene…"

"Just go back to the house, Shelton. Leave me be." Eugene closes his eyes and listens as the sound of footsteps grows fainter and fainter before he turns the other direction and walks away.  
  


* * *

  
The sky is starting to darken by the time Eugene feels steady enough to go back to the house. He cried behind the barn for a good long while and now he feels like he's managed to pull himself together enough to stand being in the same room as Snafu. 

When he opens the front door he's surprised to see Jay and Burgie sitting in the foyer like parents waiting for a child that's broken curfew. They both stand as Eugene slowly closes the door behind him. "Am I grounded?"

"You've been gone for hours," Burgie says, his voice clipped. "We were worried." 

"I'm sorry." And Eugene genuinely is. "I just needed some time."

Jay steps forward and puts a hand on Eugene's arm. "You okay?" His voice is low and quiet. "Snafu didn't tell us anything but he didn't look happy." 

"I'm fine." He doesn't bother forcing a smile. Jay and Burgie would be able to see right through it. "Wasn't the most fun I've ever had but at least I know once and for all where I stand. He get back alright?"

"Yeah. He got back hours ago." 

“Glad to hear it. Did I miss supper?”

Burgie and Jay glance at each other in a way that suggests maybe they’d been expecting him to fall to pieces right at their feet. It's a small source of pride that he manages not to prove them right. “Yeah, but Flo saved you a plate.” Burgie points a thumb toward the kitchen. “She and Snaf are in there now…”

Eugene takes a breath so deep he can feel it pushing out against his ribs. He lets it out nice and slow. He knows he can’t avoid Snafu for the whole rest of the time they’re in Texas. They're staying in the same house, after all, and they're both there for the same reason. Besides, Snafu had made himself clear and it’s up to Eugene to be the bigger man and respect his wishes. Snafu doesn't want them to be together. It's Eugene's job to learn how to live with that. “I could eat a horse. Will I be interruptin’ if I go through?”

“No, you’ll be alright. Are you sure though? I can bring your plate to you up in your room.”

“No reason for that.” Eugene forces a smile. “It’s fine Burgie. We’re all grown ups here. Snafu and I got through a whole war without killin’ each other. I think we can manage the next few days.”

Jay opens his mouth - probably to point out that the situation between Eugene and Snafu was very different during the war - but Burgie slams him in the side with a sharp elbow. Ignoring them and hoping he looks more dignified than he feels, Eugene leads the way to the kitchen. He takes a deep breath as he crosses the threshold into the room, ignoring the way Snafu half-stands in surprise. He doesn't even look at him, just shoots an apologetic look to his hostess. "I'm so sorry I missed dinner." 

"Oh goodness, no need to apologize. Let me heat up your plate for you." Flo goes over to fiddle with the oven. Snafu sits back down slowly, his eyes flickering over Eugene's face. Eugene isn't sure what he sees. He's sure his eyes are still red and his color is probably pale or too flushed but he hopes he's managing to keep his expression neutral. 

Snafu's gaze follows him as he takes a seat across the table. Flo sets a warm plate down in front of him and Eugene smiles at her gratefully. It smells delicious and sets his stomach to rumbling. As he takes his first bite, Snafu clears his throat. "Was worried about you." 

Eugene freezes momentarily. He hadn't been expecting Snafu to say anything to him. He keeps his eyes down on his food, his fingers clenching around his knife and fork. "You don't need to worry about me. It ain't your job. I'm a grown man, I can take care of myself." As the words leave his mouth, he's not so sure they're true. He certainly hasn't taken very good care of himself in the past few years. But either way it's still not Snafu's place to worry about him anymore.

They sit in relative silence for the rest of Eugene's meal. Eugene chats with the other guys and Flo but none of his words are ever directed at Snafu. 

Exhaustion, Eugene's constant companion, rears its head when Eugene finishes his meal. It's like all of the energy drops out of him all at once leaving him dizzy and weak. He keeps himself together long enough to wash his dish, then stretches his arms over his head. "I think I'm gonna turn in."

"Sure," Burgie smiles. "Sleep well."  
  


* * *

  
There's deep snow engulfing Eugene's feet, gluing him to the ground. It falls in fat flakes around him, making it difficult for him to see and landing wet and cold on his eyelashes. But through the white he can see several men standing in a line approaching him. As they come closer, he sees Burgie, Jay, Bill, Ack-Ack, Hillbilly, and Snafu. He feels himself smile as he reaches out to them, these men who have always had his back. "Oh, thank Christ. Boy am I glad to see you guys. I'm stuck, help pull me out." 

They continue to walk silently toward him until they stop, just out of reach. He can feel himself start to panic as he keeps trying to pull himself out of the snow. The panic grows as each of them draws a gun and aims it at him. "What are you doing?" None of them answer. They just keep staring at him with blank eyes. He whimpers deep in his throat, trying to lurch backward hard enough to dislodge his feet. They fire and Eugene screams until his ears hurt. As the gunshots stop echoing in the clearing Eugene looks down and sees that none of the bullets have hit him. He lets out a shaky sigh of relief.

Then Snafu steps out of the line and raises his rifle to his eye. "No, no, no. Snafu, don't. Please." Eugene is clawing at the snow and ice around his ankles. He looks up at Snafu with tears turning to ice on his cheeks but Snafu seems completely unmoved. There's hatred in his eyes and in the snarl on his face that terrifies Eugene. As Eugene begs, Snafu puts his finger on the trigger and then…

Eugene wakes. He's soaked through with sweat and his face is damp so he knows he's been sobbing in his sleep again. Frustrated at himself, he slams his fist down onto the mattress next to him. He pulls himself up to a seated position and looks at the clock next to the bed. He's been asleep for a little over three hours. Praying that he hasn't gotten too loud, he rubs some of the sleep from his eyes and pulls his hands down his cheeks. As he glances at the clock again he notices that there's a full glass of water next to it. Furrowing his brow, he reaches out to touch it only to find that the water is still cool. He closes his eyes for a moment, willing his heart to slow and a sudden influx of tears to disappear. While it could have been Jay or Burgie he supposes, he somehow knows in his gut that this was Snafu.

He doesn't have the energy to think about it in any sort of meaningful way. His mind is exhausted and the three hours of sleep he's managed to get have done him no favors. Instead he just takes a sip of the water, rolls over, and drifts back into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So IRL Burgie did not live on a ranch, but I always pictured him being a rancher so in my fic he is. 
> 
> I hope this chapter is good. I was going to make it longer, but I'm a little stuck on how to get it from here to where I want it to go, so I'm posting this while I figure it out.
> 
> The chapter title is from The Only Thing by Sufjan Stevens.


	12. The Darkest Hour is Just Before Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the next few days, Eugene and Snafu exist around one another in an uneasy, unspoken agreement to pretend as though they're nothing more than casual strangers. He regrets that it seems to increase the tension in whatever room they're occupying tenfold, but it keeps them from screaming at each other or bursting into tears, so he imagines it's the preferable option.

For the next few days Eugene and Snafu exist around one another in an uneasy, unspoken agreement to pretend as though they're nothing more than casual strangers. He regrets that it seems to increase the tension in whatever room they're occupying tenfold, but it keeps them from screaming at each other or bursting into tears so he imagines it's the preferable option.

Sunday dawns, the day of Maggie's baptism. Flo and Burgie's joy is immense and palpable enough that even Eugene and Snafu shake off their bad moods to celebrate with them. The day is bright and hot and Eugene, Jay, and Snafu all sweat in the bed of Burgie's old pick-up on their way to the church. 

Eugene always considered himself to be a person of faith, a believer. His devotion to God had gotten him through so much in his childhood - sickness, loss, frustration and anger. Growing up he went to church at least once a week, he couldn't sleep until he'd said his prayers knelt beside his bed, and he carried a bible with him throughout the whole war. But somewhere along the way, maybe during that war or after it, Eugene lost some of that faith. He stopped consulting God about tough choices, stopped asking Him for help, stopped worshipping Him. As they pull up in front of the little church that the Burgins attend, Eugene realizes that he can't remember the last time he stepped foot on hallowed ground. Five years ago this would have shamed him to his core and made him panic for redemption, but now he looks at the church and sees only a building that he owes nothing to. 

There's already a small crowd gathered around the entrance to the church in their Sunday best. There's lots of light yellow dresses and powder blue shirts and it reminds Eugene of a patch of wildflowers. The crowd grows louder in a wash of happy noises as the Burgins and their guests exit the vehicle. Flo and Burgie head up to their friends and family with bright smiles and Jay joins them and immediately starts up a conversation with one of Flo's pretty friends. 

Eugene lingers behind. Integrating himself into a crowd of strangers has always been a challenge for him. He'd started primary school a year late due to a bout of rheumatic fever and he can remember the dread he'd felt at the idea of introducing himself to a classroom of strangers a year younger than him. That feeling of being different, of always being slightly on the outside looking in has never left him. Consequently, he still hates crowds of unknown people. 

He doesn't realize that Snafu stayed back too until he hears him light a cigarette. He feels a tap on his shoulder. "You still smoke?"

Eugene turns around to see Snafu holding out a cigarette to him. "My pipe, mostly. I didn't think to bring it today. Stupid." He takes the cigarette, careful not to brush hands with him. He wants to keep physical contact to a minimum for his own sake however innocent it may seem. 

"Wouldn't'a hurt to bring it," Snafu agrees, lighting a cigarette of his own. "Always kept you calm to do somethin' with your hands." 

"Yeah, I guess it did. Does." He takes a drag off of the cigarette. It tastes different from pipe tobacco and he doesn't prefer it but the nicotine takes some of the edge off. "Thanks."

Snafu hums, his eyes focused up the path on the building. "Been a long time since I been in a church." 

"Yeah, I guess it isn't someplace you'd spend a lot of time in." 

With a snort, Snafu shakes his head and his curls bounce and catch Eugene's eye. "No, definitely not. 'Specially not after everything that happened over there. Can't be fucked to go to my own house of God. Why go to someone else's?" 

"I haven't been either." Snafu's eyes snap over to Eugene's face and he finds himself shrugging. "Didn't have anythin' to say to him, I guess."

"Not even for the holidays?"

"Nah."

"Your mama let you get away with that?" 

"She put up a fuss at first but Father got her to lay off. She didn't understand at first that I was different than I had been and that almost nothin' was the same. She gets it now, I think."

"Different after the war?"

"Yeah," Eugene says and he doesn't add 'after you' like he wants to. He thinks maybe Snafu hears it anyway. "She expected her baby to come back and he didn't. I never had the heart to tell her that he died over there and I was the consolation prize." 

Snafu shakes his head fiercely and takes a step forward. "That ain't true. You're not a consolation prize."

Eugene quirks a smile. "Just a loss, then?"

"No. Goddamn it Eugene. You're not less than who you were before." 

"How would you know?" Eugene's voice is quiet and non-accusatory. He doesn't say it to throw barbs at Snafu or wound him this time but it's just the simple truth. Snafu knows next to nothing about the man he's become. "I'm not the same as I was in Germany or, hell, even the day I got off that fuckin' train. You said you know me but you don't Snaf. Not anymore. You wouldn't have even recognized me three months ago."

Snafu opens his mouth to say something back but he's stopped by Jay yelling. "Guys, come on! We gotta go inside!"

"Comin'!" Eugene hollers back. He turns away from Snafu and he can feel the hunch of his shoulders as he puts his hands in his pockets. "It doesn't matter. Let's just go help Burgie celebrate his baby girl. After that it's just a few more days and I'm leavin' again." The thought of getting off of a train in Mobile again not knowing when or if he'll see Snafu again aches in him like a broken rib but there's nothing to be done about it. 

Snafu takes a sharp breath behind him like he'd like to say something but Jay yells for them again. With no time for any more words between them, they both trudge into the church and let the door slam shut behind them.

It seems fitting that Eugene's first time back in a church in so long feels like being plunged into darkness. His eyes struggle to adjust to the dim candlelight in the church after being out in the bright Texas sunshine. It's almost claustrophobic, like opening one's eyes and finding a wall just beyond the tip of their nose. He takes a deep breath and fights down the urge to turn around and bust back through the door. As his eyes start to acclimatize Eugene finds himself a seat toward the back of the church. He's disappointed to realize that there's little familiarity here to his church at home. It's small and quaint while his parents' church had always been large and spacious, filled with sunlight and fresh air. But when he closes his eyes during the prayers, he can almost imagine being back there, and it almost feels familiar.  
  


* * *

  
The ceremony is lovely. Maggie babbles and squeals throughout the whole thing. Instead of fussing or crying as the water is poured over her head she giggles and tries to catch the stream in her pudgy hands. Her parents are beside themselves with joy and pride. 

There's a small party out on the church lawn after the service. Neighbors and friends come bearing enough sandwiches and snacks and pies enough to feed half of Houston, the vast majority of which are absolutely delicious. 

He sits under the shade of a huge, old tree with a plate in his lap and a cold drink in his hand. Content to watch those around him, he smiles as his eyes land on a few familiar faces. The most familiar and shocking of these faces belongs to Bill Leyden. 

The last time Eugene saw Bill he'd been shot in the chest by a sniper and was desperately trying to pull air into his useless lung. But the Bill standing a few yards away looks just as Eugene always wanted to remember him: healthy and fit with a 'fight me' gleam in his eyes and a slightly manic grin on his face. Eugene has to fight down the urge to run over to him and tackle him to the ground. He's apparently deep in conversation with Burgie's mother, although Eugene can't imagine what they could possibly be talking about. He eases his weight back against the trunk of the tree. He'll be able to talk to him later. Bill isn't going anywhere this time.  
  


* * *

  
A half hour or so passes before Eugene feels comfortable enough to mingle amongst the guests. As he talks to Flo's sister (apparently unmarried, as she's mentioned several times throughout the conversation), he can feel Snafu's eyes on him. The back of his neck turns red as he tries to ignore the attention and focus on the conversation at hand.

He's finally managed to extricate himself from the frankly uncomfortable conversation when his attention is drawn to something behind him.

“Excuse me!” Having heard someone hollering, Eugene looks back at the woman fast approaching. There’s something intimidatingly determined about her expression. Her dirty blonde hair is done up prettily in a feminine way that is somehow at odds with the way she’s marching toward him like a drill sergeant. “You’re Doc Sledge, right?”

“I am, or at least I was.” Eugene smiles. He’s only ever heard an accent so nasal and so clearly New York out of one man’s mouth before. “You must be Mrs. Leyden.” She’s a short, chubby woman with a perfect cupid’s bow mouth and bright green eyes. While everything about her body is soft and warm, she has an air about her that makes Eugene feel pretty confident that she could take him in an arm wrestling match - probably a regular wrestling match too, for that matter. 

“Well, I don’t know if I must be but I am. Call me Kat.” They shake hands, and Eugene’s not sure he’s ever met a man with so firm a grip. “I wanted to say thank you for everything you did for Bill overseas. It’s a shame about all the scars on his face, but what can you do?” A cheeky smile spreads across her face.

“Ma’am, please believe me when I tell you that it is an improvement,” Eugene states, his voice solemn and serious. 

Kat lets out a braying “HAH” of a laugh so loud that several people turn to stare at her. He’s never heard a sound like that come from a woman before, and it has him laughing as well. "I've always liked a man with scars in any case." She waves at someone over Eugene's shoulder. 

A solid, though not particularly forceful punch to his side forces a quiet 'oof' out of Eugene and when he turns his head he finds himself face-to-face with none other than Bill Leyden himself. 

Bill drags Eugene into a tight hug and Eugene finds himself grinning widely. "Bill Leyden, you son of a bitch." He glances back at Kat. "Sorry ma'am." 

"You think she doesn't say worse than that every ten minutes?" Bill finally relinquishes his grip on Eugene and takes a step back to look at him properly. Eugene watches his eyes catch on the dark circles under his eyes, his still-skinny frame that he's barely put any weight onto. "You look… kinda like shit." 

Eugene rolls his eyes and looks back over at Bill's wife. "Was he this charmin' when you met?"

Kat hums and taps her chin thoughtfully. "A little more complimentary, I'll admit." 

"I'm just saying!" Bill raises his hands defensively. "Most guys look better than they did in the war after all this time. You look the same as when I left you." 

Eugene smiles and shrugs a little, putting his hands in his pockets. "Never really adjusted back to civilian life, I guess." 

A concerned look flashes across Bill's face as Kat tucks herself under his arm. "Really? After two years?" 

"Things didn't go exactly according to plan when I got home. I'm still tryin' to figure myself out." Eugene watches Bill's eyes flick to where Snafu is standing and a scowl forms. "Don't. Bill, I mean it."

"What? I'm not doing nothing." That familiar 'I'm about to fight someone' look is on Bill's face, and Eugene steps over to block his view of Snafu. Kat looks confused but to her credit keeps her mouth shut and doesn't ask any questions. He's sure she'll hound her husband for details later.

"I know you better than that. Things just didn't work out, okay?" Eugene crosses his arms uncomfortably. "We had different expectations for after the war, that's all." 

"I always knew he was a piece of shit," Bill growls, glaring at him. Despite everything, his loyalty makes Eugene feel warm. 

"Don't say that. He's not. I just thought we wanted the same thing and we didn't. It's... " He stops himself from saying 'it's not a big deal' because, well. "It is what it is." 

Bill looks unconvinced and unimpressed. "Sure, Gene. Whatever you say. Now come on, fill me in on what you've been doing since you got home." 

They find a picnic table set a bit away from the rest of the crowd and claim it for themselves. Kat pulls a flask out from somewhere on her person and takes a sip of it before handing it to Eugene. Despite not being much of a drinker, Eugene takes a long pull of what ends up being fairly cheap whiskey. Bill and Kat both laugh as he chokes and coughs. 

Bill and Kat detail their relationship from the first time they met until their large wedding. Bill talks about his house on Long Island and his new passion for professional golf. His life sounds peaceful and fulfilling and Eugene is as envious as he is glad for his friend's success. 

Any way Eugene puts it, his life has been empty and dull since the end of the war. He hasn't found a steady job, a home, and certainly not a wife. How can he tell Bill that his biggest accomplishment is planting a garden? That the only work he's had is as a part-time gardener for neighbors with ailing plants? That his days are spent in silence broken only by the sounds of birds? He's not a doctor, not a student, not a husband. He's coasting through his own existence. 

Something must show on Eugene's face based on the way Bill's expression turns concerned. "You okay Gene? You look like you're a million miles away." 

Eugene gives him a strained smile. "It's nothin'. Just shocked at how settled you got. I never woulda guessed it in a hundred years. You hardly seemed the settlin' type in Europe."

"Not in front of the missus," Bill hisses as Kat laughs. Eugene smiles more genuinely in response. 

"Excuse me gentlemen. I'm going to refresh my lemonade." Kat kisses her husband on the cheek and gets up to move toward the refreshment table. Bill watches her leave and then turns back to Eugene with a determined expression. 

Bill takes out a pack of cigarettes and Eugene holds his hand out for one. Bill lights them both and hands one over. "So what the fuck happened with you and Snafu? When I left you guys seemed happy." He keeps his voice mercifully low but Eugene knows there's not a lot of ways for him to escape this conversation. He guesses he could just run for it. Bill's lung probably isn't as good as it was before his injury - Eugene could probably outrun him. 

But Eugene remembers the beginning of the war when the accusation of 'coward' was hurled at him from all sides and he thinks that for all of his failings at least he's not that. He takes a long drag of his cigarette. "We were. All the way up to the end of the war. He told me he didn't have an address so he'd write to me when he got himself settled."

"Let me guess - he never did?" Bill looks furious when Eugene nods his head. "Fucking asshole." 

"Yeah." Eugene can't really argue with that. He's certainly thought it himself enough times. 

"So this is the first time you've seen him?"

"Since we've been back, yes." Eugene sighs and runs a hand through his hair. 

"Fuck." 

"Got that right." Eugene takes a long drag off his cigarette. 

Bill watches his face closely. “You should come up to New York to visit me and Kat. It’s one hell of a change of scenery.”

Eugene laughs. “Yeah. Yeah, maybe I will. Some change might be good for me.”  
  


* * *

  
Flo, her sister, and Kat head into town for dinner and some cocktails leaving the men in charge of Maggie for the night. It's no great challenge. She goes to bed at seven and the guys settle in for a night of beer and cards. It's completely surreal. Eugene spent two years hardly speaking to these men he once considered his brothers and here he is again surrounded by their voices in their myriad of accents. A part of his soul slots back into place and he finds himself more like the boy he once was than he's been since 1943. 

After his third loss in a row Eugene leaves his increasingly intoxicated friends to sit outside on Burgie's ample back porch and pack his pipe. Despite the heat of the day, the night is surprisingly cool and Eugene undoes the top few buttons of his shirt. The air is filled with the sound of cicadas and the occasional mooing of cattle. Eugene relaxes more and more until he's slouched in the chair, puffing away at his pipe. 

The screen door opens and bangs shut. Eugene looks over and watches as Snafu drops himself into the chair beside him. "Got hot in there."

Eugene hums around the stem of his pipe. "You lose?"

Snafu's expression darkens. "I'd swear on my granny's grave that De L'Eau's cheatin'." 

Laughing and shaking his head, he takes the pipe from his mouth. Eugene can't help but smile fondly over at that dear face. Though only 26 there's already lines starting to form at the corner of Snafu's eyes and around his mouth. He's got a few gray hairs in his curls that weren't there before but they don't detract from the attractive color of his hair. Eugene had expected to find strangeness in Snafu's face, things that had changed or that maybe he didn't remember. But Eugene finds that his memory has stayed as clear as ever and Snafu's face is as familiar to him as it had been when he spent all his possible time pressing kisses against his lips and nose and cheeks.

After a few seconds of simply watching each other, they both lean in closer as if drawn by a magnet. The kiss is nothing more than a chaste press of lips but it gets Eugene’s pulse fluttering. It feels so right that Eugene could cry. God, he’s missed kissing Snafu. Almost more than sex. The kiss doesn’t last long, especially not once Eugene comes to his senses and realizes what they’re doing. He pulls back, bringing his empty hand up to touch his lips. “Snaf…”

"You know, we ain't been at war for almost three years now. You don't gotta keep callin' me Snafu." Snafu sounds more frustrated than annoyed and Eugene can’t blame him. His own brain is screaming at him for pulling away from the one thing he’s been wanting all this time. 

"Yeah? What should I call you instead?"

"My name. Merriell. You've used it before, remember? In Landsberg." He reaches up and takes a lock of Eugene’s hair between his fingers, petting it softly before tucking it back where it belongs.

"Yeah, I remember. It was right before you said you loved me for the first time. You were very convincing." It’s unkind of him to say. He knows more than anything how vulnerable and broken Snafu was in Landsberg and how raw his feelings had been. He knows wholeheartedly that Snafu meant it at the time.

A scowl settles on his face. "Don't make it out like I was lyin'. I loved you and you know it."

"Do you still? When we talked the other day, you said ‘I love you too much to let you.’ Love, not loved." Snafu - Merriell - sits quietly for a moment. With his lips still warm from their kiss Eugene finds he doesn’t have the patience to be timid and kind. "Damn it, I asked you a question. Do you still love me?"

"'Course I do.” Merriell looks him dead in the eye as he says it, his voice grave. “I'll love you ‘til the day I die."

Eugene’s heart aches and to try and ease the pain he takes a deep puff from his pipe that only makes it feel worse. His brain is working overtime to try and make sense of any of this. What have the past two years even meant if all along Merriell was loving him right back? 

The way Eugene sees it, he has two options. He can tell Merriell that he’s too late and that Eugene doesn’t have the heart or energy for any of this anymore. Or he can take this opportunity and spend his last few days in Texas being close to Merriell, kissing him and making love and taking his fill of him so that he’ll have a couple more nice memories to take with him back to Mobile when the time comes. 

“I never stopped loving you, Merriell Shelton.”

He can hear Eddie’s voice in his head saying that he can’t stand Eugene coming back hurt again but Eugene squashes it mercilessly as he leans back in to give Merriell a much more feverish kiss. He’s a little surprised at Merriell’s complete and utter lack of hesitation as he winds his fingers through Eugene’s hair and returns the kiss. They kiss deeper and press closer to each other until Eugene is in Merriell’s lap. He's got his knees on either side of Merriell's hips squeezing tight and Merriell certainly doesn't seem to mind it.

They break away from one another as a swell of laughter floats through the screen door and onto the porch. They’re both breathing heavily and gripping on to one another like they’re afraid of what’ll happen if they let go. Eugene clears his throat. “Do you wanna come upstairs?”

A surprised look flashes across Merriell’s face before it’s replaced with naked want. He nods eagerly. Eugene laughs and gives him another quick kiss. “Let me go in and say goodnight first, okay?” As accepting as his friends have always been of him and Merriell, he doesn’t really want them to know that he’s going to take Merriell upstairs and debauch him in Burgie’s house. He doesn’t want to deal with the inevitable judgements or questions that will come along with it. 

Eugene goes inside and says his goodnights to much grumbling of him being a spoilsport. He brushes the comments off good-naturedly and heads up to his room When he gets there he closes the door behind him and leans back against it for a minute to try and put himself back together. After a few deep breaths he undresses down to his underwear and sits on the bed. The too-soft mattress bows under his weight and he feels nervous as a bride. Will Merriell still like what he sees? He’s 25 now but his body isn’t much different than it was when he was a teenager. Maybe Merriell’s expecting him to have changed into something he’s not, something broad and strong and masculine. He grits his teeth against his own thoughts. Merriell clearly still wants him. He’s a relatively good looking young man. He looks much the same as he had in the war and Merriell had liked his looks well enough back then. He flops back against the pillow and presses the heels of his hands to his eyes in an attempt to force his doubts right out of his head. 

He doesn’t hear Merriell approach until he opens the door, causing Eugene to just about jump out of his skin. “Jesus Christ,” he hisses. “You scared the livin’ daylights outta me.”

“Sorry.” But Merriell doesn’t look very sorry. He doesn’t look like he’s aware of his apology at all. Instead he’s got his eyes laser focused on Eugene. He stalks over, kicking his shoes off as he goes. When he gets to the bed he hesitates for a moment before he reaches out to touch. Eugene shivers under his too-light fingers. “You got freckly.” 

“I’ve been spending a lot of time outside.” Eugene reaches out to start unbuttoning Merriell’s shirt. When the shirt is fully removed and tossed aside, he soaks in and admires what a healthy Merriell Shelton looks like. He’s more muscular and less wiry than he was in the war, though he’s still got that rangy leanness to him. Eugene can’t count his ribs anymore and his hip bones are covered by a thin layer of fat. He relishes the healthy softness of him. “You look good. Healthy.” Eugene leans in and presses a kiss to his ribcage. 

Merriell threads his hands through Eugene’s soft hair. “You look just like I remember you. Fuck, I missed you.” He tugs Eugene’s head back and kisses him soundly. 

It all progresses rather quickly from there. In mere moments the rest of their clothes are shed and thrown around the room for them to find later. It’s a struggle to stay quiet for both of them and Eugene takes great satisfaction in the fact that it seems like it’s been a long time for Merriell, too. Their first go at it doesn’t take very long at all but there’s no shame or embarrassment. They're both in the same boat and they seem equally as excited just to have each other. Their second round lasts much longer. 

When they’re both worn out, Merriell lights them both cigarettes and passes one to Eugene. Eugene pushes open the window next to the bed and they both sit next to it and blow their smoke out into the night air. Eugene’s toes are curled against Merriell’s hairy shins and Merriell’s got his hand over the top of Eugene’s foot. It’s domestic and intimate and it’s breaking Eugene’s heart.

He’s acutely aware of the fact that this is what they could have had together. They could have had two years of nights spent fucking and smoking, two years of sitting next to each other in comfortable silence just happy to be existing next to one another. Part of Eugene wants to say this aloud. He wants to hurl these barbed thoughts out at Merriell and watch them hurt him as bad as they’ve been tormenting Eugene. But he doesn’t want to break whatever moment they’re having. 

Their cigarettes burn down to nothing and after he flicks his butt out the window Merriell looks around the room like he’s trying to figure out what to do next. 

“Stay.”

Merriell turns to look at him with his eyebrows raised. “What?”

“Stay here.” Eugene scoots back up the bed so he’s resting against the pillows. “You always said I got sappy after sex. I guess that hasn’t changed much.”

Merriell looks sorely tempted at the idea. “What if Burgie or Jay come in?”

“Then we’ll deal with it when it happens.” Eugene slips under the covers and turns a corner down. “Come on, Merriell. For old time’s sake. For me.” 

That’s all the urging Merriell needs. He slips under the covers and fidgets around until he turns on his side facing away from Eugene. Eugene immediately knows what he’s meant to do and he curls around Merriell with his arm draped over his middle. On the rare occasions that they’d been able to share a bed all night during the war, this was their default position. Nestling into one another always made them feel safe and secure. 

Eugene can’t help but press a kiss to the knob of Merriell’s spine just as he starts to drift off to sleep. He thinks that he hears Merriell tell him he loves him again but the tide of sleep sweeps over him and he’s out before he can give it any thought at all.  
  


* * *

  
A pattern emerges over the next few days. Any time Merriell and Eugene have the opportunity to spend a second alone they make their excuses and retreat somewhere private. It’s more sex than Eugene has ever had and his own insatiable lust surprises him. During the war his libido was always dampened by battle or hunger or inconvenience, but now it has the freedom to run as rampant as it wants. It seems to delight Merriell. 

One evening they’re necking out on the porch like they were a few nights prior. Merriell is seated in one of the big chairs with Eugene in his lap kissing him like they’re teenagers.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Eugene tries to leap backward in surprise but he finds that his legs have become all tangled with Merriell’s and he ends up falling out of the chair on his ass. Bill is standing in the doorway looking pissed as hell. But his furious eyes are focused on Merriell as he takes a menacing step forward. What Bill lacks in height he makes up for in aggression, and his version of menacing is as intimidating as any that Eugene has seen. Again, in spite of the whole situation Eugene finds himself strangely touched by Bill’s fierce loyalty. 

“Bill, take it easy.” Eugene stands and raises his hands in supplication as he puts himself between Bill and the subject of his displeasure. Merriell stays uncharacteristically quiet and non-combative behind him. 

“Gene you’re really gonna do this after everything we talked about?” He looks disappointed in the way a teacher or parent would if you brought home a particularly dismal report card. 

Eugene flushes bright red. “Bill…” Bill throws his hands up and slams back into the house. Eugene stands there for a few more minutes before he turns to look back at Merriell whose calm facade is cracking and showing something distraught underneath.

During the war Bill and Merriell made unlikely friends. Both were (and still are) aggressive and non-compromising about most things and more likely to throw a punch than anything else. They butted heads more often than not and chances were if they were together they were arguing. But despite this and despite the fact that Bill came onto the scene after Merriell’s bonds with Jay and Burgie were already solidified, they’d become fast friends. Merriell bullied Bill the same way he did everyone else and he was delighted when Bill fought back just as fiercely. Eugene knows that Bill is as hurt as the rest of them that Merriell never wrote after the war. Bill had never even had the chance to say goodbye before he’d been evacuated from the Ardennes and shipped back home. But Bill is also stubborn and unyielding and Eugene knows that Merriell will have to work a lot harder for his forgiveness than anyone else’s, even his own. Merriell probably knows it too. 

Eugene sighs and rubs his hand down Merriell’s arm. “I’m gonna go talk to him. You okay?”

“Yeah, ‘m fine.” Merriell pulls a cigarette out of his pack with his mouth and pulls out his lighter. “You go talk to him.”

There’s a part of Eugene that’s afraid that by the time he gets back Merriell will have fled. He’s not convinced that Merriell won’t just up and disappear on him, especially if he’s upset. But he pushes his trepidations down and kisses Merriell’s cheek before following Bill back inside. 

Bill is standing close to his concerned-looking wife, muttering in her ear. When he looks up at Eugene, he points at him and then toward the front door. It feels a lot like Eugene’s being sent up to his room. “We’re going for a walk.”

Bill leads them out of the house and into the darkness of Burgie’s vast property. The moon is just a tiny sliver in the sky and there’s very little light to move by. Eugene follows silently, waiting for Bill to make the first move. When they’re apparently far enough away from the house Bill spins to face him. “Gene, what the hell?”

Eugene heaves a sigh. “I know it’s stupid.”

“Stupid? Christ, it’s masochistic. What the hell are you doing?”

Bill’s tone gets Eugene’s hackles up and he crosses his arms irritably. “I didn’t know I needed your permission to fuck someone.”

“You’re fucking?!”

“Keep it down, Jesus Christ!” It’s not like there’s anything except cows and wildlife around to hear but it’s the principle of the thing. Bill doesn't need to shout it up to the heavens like God doesn't already know. “I already said I know it’s stupid. I don’t need you to convince me.” Bill doesn’t say anything, just stands there facing him with his arms crossed. “It’s complicated, I don’t know. I spent the last two years missin’ him like a limb and now he’s here and this feels like God’s givin’ me one last time with him. I just felt like I should take it.”

“He hurt you, Gene.” Bill’s voice is insistent. “You think I couldn’t hear how bad he hurt you in your letters? You didn’t sound like yourself at all. And that’s when you bothered to write at all. You can’t tell me you haven’t been fucked up since you got home. How much of that was because of him?”

“That’s not fair. I wasn’t fucked up because of him. Maybe havin’ him there with me would have helped, maybe it wouldn’t’ve. But I’m fucked up because I spent two years of my life wrist deep in blood and because I watched men die over and over and over. And then when I was done the Army just spat me back out into Mobile and didn’t give me any type of direction about what the fuck I was supposed to do next. Colleges don’t want me because I didn’t take any classes during the war, jobs don’t want me because they’re flooded with men who got home sooner than I did and worked before the war even started. I’m just lost and directionless all the time. And even though he broke my damn heart, Snafu’s one of the only things that still makes sense the way it did during the war. Even though everything else changed, how he makes me feel is the same.”

Silence descends upon them filled with the soft chirping of crickets. “How come you never said anything?” Bill’s voice is firm and Eugene can’t see his face in the darkness to give him a clue as to what he’s really thinking. “You always said in your letters that you were doing fine and keeping yourself busy.”

“Of course I said that.” Eugene throws his hands up in exasperation. “What was I supposed to tell you? That some days I don’t leave my room the entire day? That every time I close my eyes to go to sleep I see dead guys and they feel so real that I swear I can smell 'em? That I’m miserable and lonely and so fuckin’ tired that I don’t even feel human most days?”

“Yes!” Bill shoves Eugene who stumbles backward a step. “Yes, you fucking moron. That’s exactly what you’re supposed to say because I’m your friend! When I write and ask you how you’re doing I’m not just being polite. I want to know what’s going on with you.” He lets out a noise of pure frustration and paces back and forth. Eugene can’t see the particulars about his expression or body language but he can track the movement of his body. “What happens at the end of the week when you both go home? Are you going to be any better off than you were before? Or are you gonna hurt worse because you have to let him go again?”

“I don’t know.” Eugene hears the exhaustion in his own voice. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do. But I couldn’t just do nothin’. I missed him.”

Bill sighs tiredly the same way he always has when Eugene exhausted him with his choices or his overthinking. “It’s your life, Gene. I’m not gonna tell you how to live it. If you want to fuck around with Snafu then you have my blessing, whatever that’s worth. But whatever happens, I’m always gonna be here to help you pick up the pieces. Understand? Don’t forget that again.”

Eugene’s heart aches in his chest like it’s stretching out and growing too big. “You got it.”  
  


* * *

  
The days move too quickly from that point on. If Jay and Burgie notice the remarkable improvements in Eugene and Snafu’s moods they certainly don’t say anything. For a few beautiful days it feels like it had toward the end of the war when it was starting to feel safe and they had the chance to be normal young men again instead of soldiers. These days are both exquisite and torturous. Eugene revels in their familiarity and warmth but the specter of his impending departure hangs over him. 

It’s late Friday night when Eugene turns to Snafu in the bed they’re sharing. “I leave in two days.” His voice is barely above a whisper like maybe if Merriell doesn’t hear him it won’t be true. 

“You do? What time?” Merriell sounds genuinely curious and Eugene’s not sure what sort of reaction he was expecting but it wasn’t this. 

“What? Around 3 in the afternoon, I guess.” Merriell makes a surprised noise that Eugene finds irritating. He’s never liked the feeling of missing something or being out of the loop. “What? Why are you asking?”

“I leave at the same time. We’re on the same train.” It isn’t really that surprising when Eugene thinks about it. New Orleans and Mobile are almost a straight shot from one another. It’s not like they’re going opposite directions. But still Eugene finds himself at a bit of a loss. Merriell pulls him closer. “We’ll have a little bit of extra time together.” 

At that thought Eugene instantly relaxes. With each day he’s been feeling more and more tense at the prospect of having to say goodbye to everyone, although if he’s honest with himself (and he tries to be) the one he was dreading the most was his goodbye with Merriell. But now he feels like he can push that goodbye to the corner of his mind. He can worry about his goodbyes to Burgie, Jay, and Bill without having to cope with saying goodbye to Merriell at the same time.  
  


* * *

  
Despite his desperate wishes, Monday morning comes exactly as scheduled. Eugene wakes up and eats a delicious breakfast prepared by Flo alongside Burgie, Jay, and Merriell. It’s quieter than it has been and Flo takes note of that. “Chin up, boys.” She scoops extra eggs onto Eugene’s plate. “You’re not saying goodbye forever. I’m sure you’ll all see each other sooner than you think.”

Bill and Kat come after breakfast to say their goodbyes to Eugene and Merriell as well. Bill makes a beeline for Merriell and when he starts to talk his voice is threatening but low enough that Eugene can’t make out what he’s saying. Kat’s a weeping mess and Eugene laughs as he hugs her. “You hardly even know me,” he teases and she punches his shoulder - hard. 

“Yeah, well. I have bad taste in men I guess because I’m gonna miss you. Smartass.” She kisses his cheek with lipsticked lips and goes to say her much more polite and reserved goodbyes to Merriell. 

Eugene rubs his cheek as he turns to Bill. For once, Bill seems to be at a loss about what to say. He knocks Eugene’s hand aside and rubs his cheek roughly to remove the last smudges of red lipstick from his skin. “This gonna be like last time? I don’t hear from you for months and then I’m lucky if I get a letter every four months after that? ‘Cause I’ll come down and beat your ass Sledge, don’t think I won’t.”

Eugene blubs out a laugh as his eyes grow progressively damper. “No, it won’t be like last time. I’ll write more.”

“And none of this ‘I’m fine’ bullshit, Gene. I want to know if you’re not fine too. And any time you need to get away from it all, Long Island is open to you. I mean it. I’ve got a nice place with an extra bedroom.” 

“I promise.”

Bill hugs Eugene so tight he thinks he might squeeze all the air from his lungs. He squeezes back just as hard. “Take care of yourself, Gene. And hang in there. You’re tougher than you give yourself credit for.” He lets go abruptly and steps back, clearing his throat. 

“Thanks, Bill.” Eugene is proud of the fact that he isn’t weeping at this point. “Same goes for you. All of it. And thank you.” 

The Leydens go back to their hotel shortly after that. Eugene and Merriell do one last sweep of Burgie’s house to make sure they haven’t forgotten anything. Or at least Eugene does - Merriell just sits on the kitchen counter and says that if he doesn’t remember it then it obviously isn’t important. (Eugene ends up slipping his toothbrush and a wad of money that he found under his pillow into Merriell’s suitcase when he isn’t looking.)

Jay and Burgie drive them to the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it station. The sun is beating down on them as they spill out of Burgie’s beat-up truck. Eugene drinks in the sight of these men who are two of the best friends he’ll ever have in life. Who knows when he’ll see these faces again, how they may have changed by then?

They loiter around chatting and smoking until the train pulls to a stop a few yards away from them. The sight of it causes panic to flop in the pit of Eugene’s stomach and he feels sick. 

“Thanks for puttin’ us up, Burg,” Merriell murmurs as he steps forward to hug Burgie. They give each other a few solid pats on the shoulder before they separate. 

“More like puttin’ up with us,” Eugene corrects, hugging Jay in the same way. 

Burgie laughs and waves his hand. “I’ll have you bastards here any time you want.”

“Both of you assholes better write to me.” Jay’s voice is stern as he takes his turn hugging Merriell.

“We will.” Eugene’s a little surprised at how readily Merriell answers for both of them but his answer is true in any case. 

Burgie hands Eugene his suitcase. “Y’all better get on that train ‘fore you miss it.” He pats the side of Eugene’s arm the way he used to during the war when he knew that Eugene needed comforting and it brings tears to Eugene’s eyes. “Don’t do nothin’ stupid.”

“Who do you think you’re talkin’ to?” Merriell grins. “We never do nothin’ stupid.”

Jay looks at him incredulously and Merriell laughs and hugs him again. The conductor cries out his last call for passengers and Eugene and Merriell have no choice but to tear themselves away from their friends and board the train. They wave out of the window as the train pulls away from the station and leaves their buddies in the dust. 

Eugene settles back against the seat with a large lump in his throat. “Looks like you mended some bridges.”

“Guess I did.” Merriell gives Eugene a significant look before he reclines in his chair and puts his feet up on the seat beside Eugene. “I’m gonna get some shuteye. Wake me if somethin’ happens.”  
  


* * *

  
They pull into New Orleans in the middle of the night. The curtain is pulled over the window to give them privacy and to allow them to pretend that sleep is possible. The city is still bustling outside despite the late hour and it sounds more alive than Eugene can imagine Mobile being. The train car has emptied steadily throughout the journey leaving just the two of them sitting across from one another in the corner of the car. 

Eugene’s not naive. He knew that this was going to be the inevitable end of their reunion from the moment he kissed Merriell on the back porch of Burgie’s old farmhouse. The past few days don’t mean anything in the grand scheme of things. They aren’t promises of a happy future or any sort of grand declaration. If anything, they’re just a series of long and intimate goodbyes spoken with roaming hands and wandering mouths more than words. The knowledge doesn’t make Eugene any more prepared or the reality any easier to bear.

Merriell is quiet as he gathers his things together. Eugene curls his fingernails into his palm and tracks his movement with his eyes. “Guess this is it.”

“Yeah.” Merriell’s voice is soft and he sounds mournful, though that could just be Eugene hearing what he wants to hear. 

“Fuck.” Eugene doesn’t really mean to say it out loud. He’d love to remain stoic and calm in this moment and not betray how badly this all hurts, but he can’t even trust himself in this moment. He lurches to his feet and dithers for a moment before he puts out his hand. Merriell stares at him like he’s grown a second head. “I’m not askin’ for anything serious but I’d like it if you wrote every now and then. Stops the mind from wandering too much.” He gives a faint smile. 

Merriell visibly hesitates before he shakes Eugene’s hand. “Yeah, I can do that.” He releases his grip like he’s been burned. 

“Don’t make promises you won’t keep.” Merriell has the decency to look shamefaced. “Once a year’ll do.” It won’t, but Eugene will make it be enough. It has to be. 

“I’ll write.” Merriell readjusts the strap of his bag on his shoulder and stares hard at Eugene. “But you have to write back.” 

“It’s a deal. Take care of yourself, Merriell.” 

“You too, Eugene.” 

And then he’s gone. 

All the strength vanishes from Eugene’s legs as he collapses back onto the seat. He bends forward at the waist and covers his face with his hands as he tries desperately to keep himself together. ‘You can do this,’ he tells himself. ‘You’ve said goodbye before and you survived it. You’ll survive it again.’ But he tries to imagine his barren future stretched out indefinitely before him and he groans, sliding his hands up into his hair and pulling. The stinging in his scalp doesn't distract him but he takes an odd solace in his body hurting just a fraction of what his heart does. 

He’s doing his best to keep from falling to pieces but he’s interrupted by a heavy weight landing on the seat next to him. Surprised, Eugene raises his head to meet the desperate, red-eyed gaze of Snafu.

“Get off the train with me.” Merriell’s voice breaks a little. The intensity in his gaze is almost off-putting while simultaneously making Eugene’s blood run about ten degrees hotter. 

“What the hell are you talkin’ about? What are you doin’? The train’s gonna leave any second.” Eugene’s throat is sore from trying to choke down tears and his voice is hoarse.

“Just get off the train with me. Don’t make me get off this train without you again.”

Eugene sucks in a sharp breath. “Merriell, I can’t.”

“I know you don’t trust me, and you’re right not to. But I love you and I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t do somethin’ this time around to keep you.”

“You told me that you didn’t want to be with me for my own good. You sayin’ that changed after a couple of days in Texas?”

“No. I still think maybe I’m right. But fuck it. Eugene, I’d rather have a life with you that might end up bein’ miserable than have one that I know will be miserable without you.”

Eugene feels oddly numb, like maybe he might be dreaming and he just hasn't noticed yet. But usually when he dreams that way it involves blood and gore and dying men, not the man he loves laying himself bare in front of him and offering him everything he's wanted for the past two years. "Merriell, you know I love you but I can't just get off the train with you."

"I ain't askin' you to stay forever if that ain’t what you want, Gene. I just want you to come meet my mama. See where I live, where I grew up. Just… don't leave me alone." 

In truth it’s all Eugene ever wanted to hear from Merriell. And it’s what he wants. He wants to get off this train with Merriell with every fiber of his being. He wants to escape the desolate life he was living just a few weeks ago and take this offer on with both hands. He wants to stay forever, to make a home here with Merriell. 

But Eugene has a home. He has a family and friends who have watched the will to live seep out of Eugene one day at a time and he knows they’ll panic if he disappears or calls them up to say that he won’t be coming home. "My brother'll come after me. If I just don't show up at the station he'll come all the way to Louisiana just to kick your ass. My family’ll think… they’ll think I did somethin’ stupid or somethin’ to hurt myself. I can’t do that to ‘em, Merriell. I won’t. I owe ‘em too much." Merriell's face falls and Eugene squeezes his hands. "Come to Mobile with me."

"You serious?" Merriell looks like he's been socked in the jaw and Eugene can’t imagine why he’s so stunned by the invitation. 

"Yeah. I am. I want you to come to Mobile with me. My brother might still kick your ass but at least my father'll be there to patch you up."

“Eugene… you don’t want your family to meet me. You can’t.”

“What?” Eugene furrows his brow. “Why not?”

Merriell laughs mirthlessly and slightly hysterically. “I ain’t rich, I ain’t book smart, I ain’t Christian. Fuck, I ain’t even white. Even if by some miracle your family didn’t just hate me on sight alone, they’d kill me for how I feel about you.” 

There’s so much to unpack there that Eugene’s head spins. Has Merriell felt this way all along? Had Eugene never made himself clear enough? “I am not ashamed of you, Merriell Shelton and I never have been,” he says fiercely. “There isn’t one part of you that I don’t love, that I’m not proud of. Introducin’ you to my family would be an honor.” He lets out a puff of air. “As for how I feel about you and how you feel about me, my brother already knows. He tried to warn me off of going to Texas because he was afraid you’d be there and I’d get hurt again. And my parents are clever and they know me. We’ve never talked about it out loud but they know who and what I am.”

“Even if all that’s true, I can’t be the type they’d want to see you with.” Merriell looks pained. Eugene knows that he hates to be this vulnerable, that he’s probably beating himself black and blue inside his own head. Eugene puts a hand on his cheek and leans in to kiss him ever so gently.

“They’ll love you because I love you and you love me. And if they don’t, they’ll keep it to themselves because they’re polite.” He smiles a little. “If you want me then my family isn’t an obstacle. My life isn’t an obstacle. I’d leave it all to be with you. It's all I want but I have to say my goodbyes first. So come home to Mobile with me or get off the train now. But for what it’s worth I want you to stay.”

Merriell looks uneasy as he scans Eugene’s face and Eugene knows that they’re both risking a lot here. But Merriell nods and Eugene has to gasp to get enough air into his lungs. He pulls Merriell in for another kiss just as the train starts to pull away from the station leaving the noise and bustle of New Orleans behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is long and dramatic and a lot gets accomplished so I'm happy. 
> 
> This story isn't done yet. I'm going to keep meandering around for a while until I find a place where it makes sense to stop. It might make sense to stop here, but I'm not gonna. 
> 
> Thank you for sticking with me during all of this. I hope you're enjoying reading it as much as I'm enjoying writing it.
> 
> The title comes from Dedicated to the One I Love by the Mamas and the Papas.


	13. The Years Between Might Never Have Been

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The train ride from New Orleans to Mobile only takes a few hours and honestly Eugene feels like he's floating the whole way home. Having Merriell by his side is beyond odd and he can't stop sneaking glances at him to try and convince himself that he's actually there.
> 
> The train pulls into Mobile just as the sky starts to lighten into dawn. Merriell has started to doze against the window so Eugene shakes his shoulder gently to rouse him. "Hey, we're here."

The train ride from New Orleans to Mobile only takes a few hours and honestly Eugene feels like he's floating the whole way home. Having Merriell by his side is beyond odd and he can't stop sneaking glances at him to try and convince himself that he's actually there. More people join them in their car so they spend the rest of the time trying to keep themselves from pawing at each other by playing cards and discussing what Merriell should expect when they get to Alabama. Eugene is shocked by how well Merriell seems to be adapting to the idea of meeting and spending time with his family. Once Eugene assures him that he believes everything will be fine, Merriell settles and is more at ease than Eugene has seen in a very long time. He seems totally comfortable taking Eugene at his word and that blind faith in him is thrilling even if Eugene worries that it may be misguided.

Eugene himself struggles to wrap his mind around their current situation. One part of him is convinced that he's dreaming. How else can he possibly explain Merriell Shelton sitting across from him on a train to Mobile to meet his family? Another part of him floods with genuine joy. He's been living with gaps inside of him for two years that are finally starting to close and mend when he'd thought they'd stay raw and bleeding forever. But his joy is marred by trepidation and pessimism. There's an angry, noisy part inside of him that keeps insisting that Merriell is going to change his mind or simply vanish into the night once they get to Alabama. He tries his hardest to ignore and suppress this voice inside his head but he can't quite manage it. So he settles on just trying to hide it from Merriell to disguise his misgivings. Merriell is showing him so much trust that he feels he owes it to him to at least pretend he can give him the same.

The train pulls into Mobile just as the sky starts to lighten into dawn. Merriell has started to doze against the window so Eugene shakes his shoulder gently to rouse him. "Hey, we're here." Merriell blinks and rubs his eyes with his fists so sleepily that it makes Eugene's insides feel warm. He can't help but reach out to push some hair off of Merriell's forehead which earns him a dopey smile. 

They gather their belongings as quietly as they can so as not to disturb the other sleeping passengers and then they step down onto the platform. The air is still cool with hints of nighttime but it already feels thick with the beginnings of daytime humidity. There aren't very many people at the station and hardly anyone gets off the train so it's easy to spot Eddie. He's waiting by his car reading the front page of a newspaper with a cigarette between his fingers. 

"Eddie!" Eugene tilts his head to get Merriell to get him follow as he heads in the direction of his brother. Eddie lifts his head with a smile and raises his hand to wave. Eugene can see the realization of just who is accompanying him hit Eddie. The easy smile seems to slide off of his face as his hand pauses and his eyes go wide as saucers. He almost sets fire to the paper in his hands with his cigarette as it falls from his fingers. To Eddie's credit he seems to pull himself together fairly quickly and he stomps out his smoke before stepping forward. 

"Hey Genie, good to see you." Eddie reaches his hand out to shake Eugene's with all of the warmth he usually has but his grip is tighter than normal. His eyes keep glancing over Eugene's shoulder at where Merriell must be standing. Eugene steps out of the way to let Merriell step forward to greet his brother. 

Their handshake is not genial or friendly. Merriell's hand is turning white from how tightly Eddie is gripping it and Eugene is impressed with how Merriell's face doesn't give any indication of discomfort. "Hi, I'm not sure if you remember me. I'm…"

"Shelton. I remember." Eddie's voice is cold and it makes Eugene squirm. He's never heard his brother sound so unfriendly. 

Merriell looks uncomfortable but he's never let awkwardness stop him before to Eugene's knowledge. "Right. It's Eddie, isn't it?"

"Major Sledge, actually." 

"Oh for Christ's sake Eddie, knock it off." Eugene's voice is also short as he rolls his eyes. "Let's just get home, alright? I don't want to do this here." He can feel his cheeks burning red as he walks to the passenger side of the car. He's not sure whether he's more embarrassed by Eddie's reaction or what Eddie must think of him. He went to Texas with the promise that he'd try to be smart and he'd come home with the same man who'd broken his heart. He can almost hear Eddie's silent reproach. Just before he goes to climb into the passenger's seat, Merriell takes his bag from his hand and sets it on the back seat next to his own suitcase. Eugene gives him a grateful smile and Merriell smiles back despite the obvious annoyance radiating from his brother. He slides in and sits next to the bags before Eugene closes his door for him. 

They start the car and drive in silence for a few miles. Even the radio is turned off - the only noise in the car is the purr of the engine and the sound of the air whistling through the open windows. Eddie eventually breaks the silence. "Mother and Father know he's comin'?"

Eugene shakes his head with a small grimace. "No. It was sort of last minute. It'll be fine."

"How last minute?"

"New Orleans." He twists his hands in his lap. 

"Jesus, Genie." Eddie shakes his head with a furrow between his brows. He looks torn between keeping his mouth shut and going off on Eugene and Merriell. It's a look Eugene has seen before on the rare occasions when he'd do something bad and get caught by his brother. He doesn't feel like getting dressed down in front of Merriell, especially not for making a choice that he firmly believes will make him genuinely happy. 

"Stuff it, Eddie." Merriell snorts in the back seat and Eugene vaguely wonders if he's got some kind of a death wish. A black cloud passes over Eddie's face but he holds his tongue so Eugene counts it as a tentative victory.

Silence reigns supreme for the rest of the drive. When they pull into the drive of Eugene's home Merriell takes a sharp breath. For one of the first times in his life Eugene feels self-conscious about the size and expense of his family's home. The lights are still out and Eugene figures it's still early enough that his parents will be asleep. He almost wishes they were awake so he could introduce Merriell immediately and quickly before he has time to fret over it. 

When the car pulls to a stop in front of the door Merriell starts to organize their things. Eugene goes to open his door and help him when a hand takes his wrist. He turns back to see his brother's worried face. He'd expected to see anger or annoyance or frustration there but Eddie just looks concerned. It makes it annoyingly difficult to stay mad at him. 

"We're not done talkin' about this, Eugene." His voice is soft. "I'm worried about you."

Huffing out a sigh Eugene nods his head. "I know. We'll talk later." He gently pulls his arm out of Eddie's grip and steps out of the car. Merriell is already waiting with both bags in his hands and Eugene takes his with another smile. They both watch as Eddie drives off, the tires crunching on the gravel sending up a cloud of dust.

Eugene takes a deep breath and pulls out his house key to unlock the front door. As expected the house sits dark and quiet, its inhabitants still tucked away in bed. Eugene takes Merriell's hand and tries not to blush like a schoolgirl when Merriell links their fingers together. He leads Merriell to his bedroom, closing and locking the door behind him just in case his mother decides to forgo manners this morning and burst in without knocking. 

Merriell stands in the middle of the room looking around like he's trying to see the traces of Eugene that he's imprinted in this room in his 25 years of living in it. There are things here and there that Eugene has used to make his room his own but for the most part it looks very plain, devoid of much personality or design.

"You can sit down wherever you like." Eugene sets his suitcase down and takes off his jacket, hanging it neatly over his desk chair. 

Merriell takes a seat on his bed, running his hands over the soft bedding. Eugene allows himself a long moment to just take in the sight of Merriell in his house, in his room, on his bed. It's something he used to think about during the war to get him through the quiet, tough moments: them in his home during peacetime. He'd imagine the two of them coming to see his parents for Christmas and staying over in this room. He'd picture the two of them falling asleep together in this bed under the familiar duvet. Seeing it in corporeal form is something Eugene wants to treasure. Merriell seems content to let himself be looked at for his part. Eventually though he moves to lay down and Eugene crawls into bed next to him. 

Merriell yawns as he runs his fingertips gently over the skin on Eugene's forearm. "I didn't get my ass kicked." 

"Yet. He could be waitin'." Merriell chuckles but Eugene is only half-kidding. There's still plenty of time for Eddie to decide to beat Merriell black and blue. A whole lifetime of time. Eugene's heart throbs at the thought. 

"'Spose he could. He really make Major?" 

"I haven't checked any records but he has the oak leaves and the ego, so I reckon he did." Merriell laughs again and Eugene turns to curl up against his side. He presses his nose against Merriell's jaw. "You can sleep if you want. Mother and Father won't be up for a while yet."

"Feel like I should be offerin' to do somethin' else with the free time." Even as he says it Merriell's eyes close and he wiggles on the mattress to make himself more comfortable. 

"I'm too tired for that." In truth Eugene could probably be convinced but he knows that Merriell is exhausted. Before long he hears Merriell's breathing start to slow and even out. He puts his ear on Merriell's chest and lets the steady beating of his heart lull him to sleep as well. 

It's 9 a.m. before anyone disturbs them. Eugene's woken by the sound of someone rattling the doorknob to try and get into his locked room. He sits up slowly, wiping sleep out of his eyes as he goes. Mother knocks next, loud and insistent. "Eugene? Eugene, why is your door locked?"

The sound of knocking and Mother's voice jolt Merriell out of sleep and he sits up so fast that he almost crashes into Eugene. In the blink of an eye he's got himself pressed against the wall next to the door so that he'd be completely hidden should the door open. Eugene stares for a moment in absolute puzzlement. "Just a moment, Mother. I'll be out in a minute."

"Not too long, Eugene. Rose is makin' breakfast and I told her to expect you." 

Her footsteps retreat down the hall and Eugene slowly stands and approaches Merriell. "What the hell are you doing?" He crosses his arms with a smile as Merriell walks back into the middle of the room with a shamefaced expression. 

"Just instinct, I guess."

"How many times've you almost been caught by someone's mother that hidin' behind a door is instinct?" A laugh bubbles up in Eugene's chest.

"It's the daddies I'm worried about," he grumbles, straightening out his clothes. 

By now Eugene is guffawing and he has to wipe a few tiny tears from the corners of his eyes before he can continue. "Christ Shelton, you're a mess." But he leans in for a kiss anyway simply because he wants to and he can. 

Merriell smirks against his lips. "Doesn't seem to bother you much."

"I guess it doesn't." Eugene has to pull himself back before they get too carried away. "We should go out there. She'll come back if we don't move fast enough and she'll likely have a key with her next time."

Eugene watches eagerly as Merriell stretches his arms upward and appreciates the dark, lean expanse of stomach that's exposed. When he puts his arms down again he smirks again. "What are you lookin' at?"

"Can't a man enjoy the view?" He's rewarded with another quick kiss, their smiling mouths pressed together for an instant. He gets his own clothes straightened out and walks to the door. Before he touches the handle he turns back to look at Merriell. He wants to make sure that Merriell is ready for this. He doesn't know how to convey it, but he knows that there's no going back for him after this. If Merriell goes out there and meets his parents then Eugene won't ever be able to go back to the way things were should he leave again. He'll be done for.

Merriell takes a few steps forward and reaches around Eugene to unlock and open the door. He gently pushes Eugene through it before following him out into the hallway. 

Eugene turns to block him from going any further. He knows he must look crazed because he feels absolutely frantic but Merriell doesn't flinch. "Merriell, are you sure you want to do this? You can still say no if you don't think this is somethin' you want." 

"I wouldn't be here if I wasn't positive, cher." Truly, his face looks as calm and sure as Eugene could expect in this situation. He looks a little nervous but he doesn't look terrified or green or like he wants to bolt.

Eugene nods and takes a deep breath. His heart is hammering away inside of his chest and it's making his stomach churn. He walks to the dining room and stops in the doorway. Father is reading the paper and sipping coffee with his pipe smoldering next to his plate. Mother is looking through a Sears and Roebuck catalog, dogearing all the pages that catch her interest. Eugene walks to his normal seat and pulls his chair out. Merriell chooses the seat next to him. 

The noise of his arrival alerts his parents to his presence and they look up to greet him. To Father's credit, he hardly looks surprised at the fact that there is a stranger at his breakfast table. Eugene is struck with the not-unfamiliar feeling that Father always knows what he's planning to do before Eugene has even considered it to be an option. Mother on the other hand looks as though she's been struck. But her need to be a proper southern hostess kicks in after a few seconds and she smiles tightly. 

"Father, Mother, this is Merriell Shelton. He's an old war buddy of mine." He'd be very surprised if his father didn't see right through that - he has a feeling his father knows everything that Eugene isn't saying about Merriell. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you he was comin'. It was a last minute thing."

"Don't be silly, Eugene. We're happy to have any friends of yours." Mother turns her head toward the kitchen. "Rose! We'll need another plate!"

Father sets down his paper and smiles warmly at Merriell. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Shelton."

"And you, Dr. Sledge. Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Sledge." Merriell sounds so polite and smooth that Eugene hardly recognizes him.

"Merriell's an interesting name," his mother comments. Eugene thinks this is rich coming from a woman who gave him the detested middle name of Bondurant. "Is it a family name?" 

"No ma'am, just French. I'm from New Orleans and my mama's always liked the water." 

"New Orleans, I see. I've never been, but I've certainly heard stories." There's something sour in the way she says 'New Orleans' even though she's never been, to Eugene's knowledge.

"Merriell and I were both at the christening." It's a redundant thing to say - it isn't exactly likely that he'd just run into an old war buddy on his way home from another buddy's house. But there's something in his mother's face that makes him uncomfortable, makes him feel like he has to keep running his mouth. 

"Isn't that nice?" his mother says just as Rose brings in two extra plates. "Ah, good."

Eugene has grown up with house staff his whole life. His mother was more of a socialite than a proper homemaker and his father's position allowed them to have a butler and a cook for as long as Eugene can remember. Tee is as beloved to him as any uncle and he adores Rose and her cooking and always has. Rose and his mother have always been friendly and he knows that Mother has always been very grateful for her help keeping the family fed. The color of their skin was never anything that Eugene thought much about. But for the first time he's thinking about how this must look and feel to Merriell. 

He's known that Merriell isn't all white ever since the first time he was in England when Merriell showed him that family picture. It wasn't something they ever explicitly spoke about and it's nothing that Eugene has ever paid any mind to or cared a whit about. He fell in love just as easily and just as hard as he would have done with anyone else. But now he feels his face flush as Rose puts a plate down in front of Merriell. He's not ashamed of Rose in any way, but he is ashamed of the choices his family has made and of Alabama as a whole.

"Thank you, ma'am," Merriell says with a warm smile and Rose smiles back at him. She touches Eugene's shoulder softly as she puts his plate down. 

"Thanks, Rose." He turns his eyes to his plate, glancing over at Merriell. Merriell is already eating quietly and Eugene wishes he could hear what's going through his head. When he looks up at his parents he sees his mother watching Merriell like a hawk. He feels the urge to snap at her and tell her to look away but he knows that it wouldn't work out well for anyone so he just clenches his fists against his thighs. 

Breakfast has never been a chatty affair in the Sledge household. During Eugene's childhood Father would read his paper and reserve his social energy for the patients at his practice. Mother would flutter about trying to prepare the boys for school and rarely sat to eat with them. Time has changed the way their days unfold, but the atmosphere surrounding breakfast is still one of peace and quiet. Eugene is very appreciative of it today as it means that Merriell is spared the third degree for now at least. 

He picks at his food and watches Merriell eat so that the instant his plate is clear Eugene stands up. "I'm going to show Merriell around the property." 

"Have fun," Father says with a smile. "It's beautiful property out there. I hope you enjoy it."

"I'm sure I will, sir." He gives a big, charming smile to Eugene's father and it's like watching a different Merriell who'd actually learned manners at some point. Eugene has to cough into his hand to mask his surprise. The only Merriell he's known so far is the one who didn't just have the name Snafu, he'd fuckin' earned it. Eugene's not sure he heard Merriell call Ack-Ack or Hillbilly 'sir' once during the whole war and here he is throwing the word out in Eugene's dining room. It's surreal. 

They escape from the room before Eugene's mother can chime in with her thoughts about anything. They make a pit stop in Eugene's bedroom so they can change into different clothes as their own are starting to smell a little ripe from being worn during a long train ride and then slept in. Eugene puts on a pair of worn-in and comfortable slacks with a button-down that he rolls up to his elbows. Merriell is dressed relatively the same but his shirt is unbuttoned with a white undershirt underneath. 

They leave the house for the privacy of the outdoors and Eugene lets the screen door bang shut as they walk off the porch. He's sure if he turned around he'd see his mother peering out at them from behind the curtains but he forces himself to keep looking forward. The air has warmed considerably since they arrived at the train station though the humidity hasn't let up. As two born-and-bred southern boys from hot and humid climes neither of them pay it much mind other than to stick to shady spots when they can. 

"Your pops seems nice," Merriell comments as they wander further into the woods. 

Eugene holds a branch back and lets Merriell pass before letting it go again, leaving it bobbing and swaying softly as they leave it behind. "He's a good man. I know he's been worried about me since the war ended. Not that Mother hasn't been. She's just… difficult." 

"A woman with opinions who doesn't want to voice them but still wants to be heard." Merriell puts his hands in his pockets. "Not so unusual from what I've seen."

"That about sums it up. She wants to be right about everything and be in charge all the time but she doesn't want to look like that's what she wants. I'd rather she just tell me what it is she wants than have to decipher what she's sayin' all the time." 

"I don't know about that. My mama and sisters never shut their mouths. Even Simone, the baby, knows she's the boss. I'd give anythin' for a little peace and quiet some days." They laugh together as Eugene leads them closer to the clear little pond that sits at the end of the creek they're walking beside. 

Eugene glances over his shoulder at Merriell before he turns his gaze back to where his feet are going. "Was it as bad as you were expectin'?"

Merriell lets out a short, frustrated little breath as he tries to figure out what he wants to say. "I wasn't expectin' it to be bad exactly. But if you try to tell me that I'm what your folks would have wanted for you then you're a liar. Besides, you and I both know that wasn't it. They'll ask more questions later when they get used to the idea that I'm here." 

"I know." They walk in quiet for a little ways. "I don't want them to chase you off." 

"Hey." Eugene turns as Merriell grabs his elbow and gently tugs. "I'm gonna stay for as long as you want me to. I want your mama to like me, sure, but I ain't here to make your folks love me. I'm here because you asked me to be here and I know what it feels like to leave you. I'm not doin' it again."

Pure, unadulterated fondness floods through Eugene's veins as he steps forward to kiss Merriell hard. He tries to pour everything he feels into it - his joy, his fear, all of his love. Merriell hums into the kiss and he puts his hands on Eugene's hips. He uses his grip to guide them until Eugene's back presses up against the trunk of an old oak tree so large that the two of them together couldn't wrap their arms around it. Merriell kisses him breathless in the shade of the reaching branches and Eugene finds peace in his lips and his touch. He pities the Eugene of a month ago, one who had almost forgotten the sweetness of this touch and the happy mindlessness it provides. 

They kiss until Eugene feels sweat soak the shirt at the small of his back where it's trapped against the bark. He pulls back and rests his head against the broad tree. "Have I ever told you that you're good at that?" He sounds dazed even to his own ears. 

Merriell laughs and presses one last kiss to his heated neck. "I don't think you have, actually."

"Shame on me." Eugene laughs too and gently pushes Merriell out of his space. He laces their hands together despite the heat and they walk hand-in-hand until they reach the pond. 

It's a small little swimming hole surrounded by shockingly green trees. The movement from the stream that feeds it keeps the water so clear that Eugene can see the rocks on the bottom as easily as if they were on the shore. The surface of the water is dappled with light that filters in through the canopy of leaves above it. On the opposite bank there's another large tree whose branches stretch over the water. Many years ago, Eugene and Sid had tied an old knotted rope onto the sturdiest limb that they used to launch themselves over and into the water. It's still there, frayed and swaying ever so little in the breeze. 

Merriell looks delighted. He starts to undress eagerly, first slipping off his over shirt then kicking off his shoes. "You don't get gators here?"

"Not here. There's some swamps around that have 'em but the creek and pond here aren't big enough. Would it bother you if I'd said yes?" Eugene's voice is amused as he notes that Merriell had started stripping before he'd even asked the question. 

"Nah. I've lived near gators my whole life, I know how to handle 'em." It seems like before Eugene can even blink, Merriell has stripped down to his skin and started to wade into the water. "You comin'?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm comin'." Eugene sheds his clothes off as well, setting them on top of his shoes so they don't get too sandy. By the time he dips his toes in, Merriell is already in the middle of the pond floating as happy as an otter. He swims out to join him, making sure to completely immerse himself on the way in order to acclimate to the temperature. It's something Sid had told him once: you can never get used to the temperature until you plunge in head-first.

The middle of the pond is deep enough that he can only just keep his head above water if he stands on his tiptoes. He treads water calmly, enjoying how the water cools his skin. "What do you think?"

"It's real nice. Is this your property?" 

Eugene shakes his head. "I don't know if it's anyone's property, but Sid and I used to come out here all the time when we were kids. Mother used to get so angry."

"Why? Most mamas can't shove their kids outside quick enough." Merriell quirks a small smile and Eugene can see in his mind's eye Mrs. Shelton swatting Merriell out from under her feet and into the bayou.

"My mother's always worried about me." Eugene sighs as he lets the water carry him. "I got sick a lot as a kid and she was convinced I'd catch my death out here." He floats on his back, lazily watching the leaves on the trees rustle in the wind. "And then my heart started acting up and she never wanted to let me do anything." There's a sound a little like Merriell is choking. Eugene looks over at him and finds him trying to keep himself afloat. "You alright?" 

Merriell gets himself situated and waves his hand dismissively. "What's the matter with your heart?" He sounds angry but Eugene can hear the thread of fear underneath it. 

"I had rheumatic fever as a kid and since then I've had a murmur. It ain't bad. Dad kept tryin' to keep me home all those years ago but I wouldn't let it stop me. It's just a flutter." 

"You had a heart problem and you joined the army anyway?" He looks angry and scared, his brow furrowed and his mouth a harsh line. 

Eugene pushes himself out of his float and swims over to him. When he reaches him he puts his hand on Merriell's waist under the water. "I'm fine." Merriell glances away and Eugene is having none of it. "Hey, look at me. The war is over and I'm okay. If hauling my ass across Europe didn't make my heart explode then I'm fine." He cracks a smile.

"S'not funny, it coulda happened," Merriell grumbles but he pulls Eugene in close so he assumes he's been forgiven. "How did I never know that?"

It occurs to Eugene just how little he and Merriell truly know about each other. There was never much time to get to know little details about each other's lives during the war, though they did the best they could. He knows things about Merriell that are private and intimate but his life is largely a mystery. He knows next to nothing about the Merriell that has existed since the end of the war. Their time alone together in Texas was filled with groping hands and the rest of the time they were competing with three other men for attention. They didn't have a lot of time for talking. 

Eugene feels a strange stab of panic that leaves him gripping Merriell's skin hard. He knows the soul of Merriell but he doesn't know the everyday things about him that make him the man that he is. He doesn't know what he does for work, what he's done for the past two years to kill time, how his family is doing. He doesn't know if he's spent the past two years alone or if there's someone waiting for him in New Orleans. The Merriell of the present is little more than a stranger to him. 

"Gene." Merriell's voice draws him out of his thoughts. He looks serious when Eugene finally meets his eyes. "Where'd you go just then?"

"We hardly know each other." Eugene feels strangled by his voice. "Isn't that strange to you?"

Merriell pulls him even closer until there's only the thinnest barrier of cool water between them. "Don't be stupid, Gene. We know each other. I know that you hate your middle name. I know that you like to sleep on the side of the bed closest to the door and that you hate when I hog all the blankets but you let me do it anyway. I could find every scar on your body with my eyes shut. I know that you love your family but bein' away from them made you feel free. I know that you like bein' in control but you don't want to show it.

"You know that I call my sister minouette. You know that I'm Jewish and that my daddy's black. You know that I like a cream and two sugars in my coffee. More than that, you know what I'm like when I'm at my worst but you also know the best parts of me. You know that I make the worst choices and that I can't show my back to nobody."

Merriell presses their foreheads together. "We know each other. There ain't no one who knows me as well as you. No one can know everythin' about the person they love right off the bat. We don't know everythin' about each other but we got time to learn it, right?" 

Eugene nods, not sure if he trusts his voice enough to respond verbally. 

"Good." Merriell pulls away and starts to swim to shore, towing Eugene with him. The water moves to accommodate them as they head for land. "Come on. I'm freezin' my ass off and I know you can appreciate what a shame that'd be." 

By the time they get back to Eugene's house (after taking a few 'detours') he's feeling much better. He thinks about Eddie and Martha marrying after five months, about Burgie and Florence who'd spent less than that in the same room before they'd married. He reckons that part of the fun of being in love is learning who your partner is, the things that get them going or irritate them to no end. What foods they like to eat, what traditions they have for birthdays and holidays. He wants to learn everything there is to know about Merriell and he wants that learning to last a lifetime.

  
  


* * *

  


Their first dinner at his parents' house is an uncomfortable affair. Mother keeps trying to subtly interrogate Merriell and Father keeps gently reminding her to keep her nose out of other people's business. Eugene does as well, though significantly less gently. For his part, Merriell is gracious and doesn't seem to have any issues with the questioning. 

"So what do you do for a livin', Merriell?" Mother's keeping her hands busy by cutting her food into smaller and smaller pieces. 

Merriell takes a sip of water to clear his mouth out. "I work at a sawmill." He either doesn't see or ignores the disdain on Mother's face at the discovery that he does manual labor. "I worked there for a bit before the war and they took me back once I got home."

"And what are your goals for the future? Surely you can't want to work at a mill your whole life." 

"Mother," Eugene snaps, his voice tight. 

Merriell puts his hand on Eugene's thigh. "It's not the most interestin' work, but it's a paycheck. I send most of it home to my mama. My daddy died when I was in high school and mama's got my two sisters still livin' at home. They're only 12 and 17."

"That's a noble thing of you to do, son." Father looks and sounds approving and it warms Eugene's heart. He turns to Merriell and smiles. 

"Seems like the least I can do. She gave me life then put up with me for eighteen years." Merriell and Father laugh, though Mother stays straight-faced. Anger simmers low in Eugene's stomach.

The rest of dinner passes, tense and uncomfortable. Merriell holds his own splendidly even as Eugene's irritation grows. He answers all of Mother's invasive questions and never even looks nervous or put out. As Rose takes the dishes from the table, Mother stands. "I should go gather the linens for the guest bedroom." 

Perhaps Eugene has been made reckless by his anger but he shakes his head. "That won't be necessary, Mother." She turns sharp eyes to him and he shrugs. "He'll be stayin' with me." 

"Gene," Merriell hisses as Mother's hand flies to the pearls at her neck. 

"Now Eugene," Father says calmly, though there's slightly more color on his cheeks than there was a moment ago. "In this house, unmarried people don't…" Eugene doesn't let him finish.

"I'm a grown man." His voice is tense but firm. "Eddie and Martha would stay in the same room."

His mother nearly shrieks. "That is altogether different, Eugene!" 

"Not as far as I can see." Eugene is determined not to back down. He feels Merriell pinch his leg sharply and he just laces their fingers together. As a response, Merriell nearly cripples his hand by squeezing too hard. Father takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose; Eugene almost feels bad for getting him caught in the crossfire of his and his mother's stubbornness. But he knows that Father has experience being caught in the middle of his wife and his sons. He and his mother glare fiercely at each other for long moments until Father sighs. 

"Mary Frank, just leave it be." His mother turns betrayed and furious eyes to her husband and Eugene feels incredibly victorious. "They're grown men." 

"Thank you, Father." Eugene feels a little ashamed at how smug his voice sounds, but only a little. He stands, keeping his fingers curled around Merriell's. "We're going to turn in. We got a lot of sunshine and fresh air today." 

Father's face softens at their held hands, even as his wife's glare becomes more pointed and intense. "Of course. We'll see you boys for breakfast. Sleep well." 

"Thank you, sir," Merriell says faintly. Eugene leads the way to his bedroom. He turns to close the door and as soon as it's latched, Merriell smacks him upside the head.

"The hell was that for?" Eugene rubs the sore spot with a frown. 

"I'm tryin' to get your folks to like me, idiot." Merriell crosses his arms. "We should ease 'em into it, don't you think?"

Eugene sits on the bed and sets to slipping his shoes and socks off. "Father already likes you just fine." Merriell looks surprised and Eugene smiles widely. "And you were worried about him most, weren't you?" He sobers again, his smile fading. "He's been worried about me. He's worked his whole career with veterans who couldn't quite leave the war behind them. I think I could stand on the table and announce that we're gettin' hitched in the center of town and he'd be happy about it as long as it means I'm feelin' more myself."

Merriell kicks his own shoes off carelessly; Eugene makes note of one getting kicked under the bed so he can remind Merriell where to find it in the morning when he'll inevitably get frustrated looking for it. "I can't say I'm not glad to hear it, but I still want your mama to like me."

Reaching out for his hand, Eugene reels Merriell in until he's standing in front of him. He puts his hands on Merriell's hips. "I think you could be a white, blonde, Christian woman and Mother would still find fault with you. That's just the way she is."

"She loves you and wants the best for you. Nothin' wrong with that." 

"Exactly. She'll come around once she gets that this is what I want and what I'm goin' with. But I gotta make it clear to her that this is it. I won't have her treatin' you badly."

Something possessive switches on in Merriell's eyes and Eugene has always loved to see it. "This is it, huh?" 

"You're stuck with me now, Shelton," Eugene teases but he knows that Merriell can tell he's serious. 

Merriell shoves him back down on the mattress and climbs on top of him. "I guess I can live with that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be longer! I've had this one sitting finished and open for a while. It just took me a minute to post it. I hope you like it!
> 
> The chapter title is from I'm Gonna Love That Gal by Perry Como.


	14. Damn It, I'm Calling You Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suddenly the only remaining obstacle to happiness that Eugene can see he needs to climb over is the approval of his mother. Father and Eddie are happy for him and have accepted Merriell into their lives but Eugene can see that Mother is still struggling. She's frosty to Merriell and alternates between hammering him with questions and ignoring him altogether.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a confrontation between Eugene and his mother in which she struggles to come to terms with his sexuality and his relationship. Initially it causes a large rift between them because she refuses to accept him. She's a little racist and a little anti-Semitic and a little homophobic. Please proceed with caution if this is triggering for you. Take care of yourselves.

Eugene has never felt more at ease in Mobile than he does with Merriell at his side. It almost feels like he's on vacation. There's no lingering feelings that he's meant to be doing something and he's failing. He fills his days showing Merriell all of the places he'd found throughout his lifetime of living here and just enjoying the company of the man he loves. 

A few days after their arrival, Eddie comes by. Merriell is laying out in the sun while Eugene fusses in the garden he's been neglecting. Both of them jump when they hear Eddie clear his throat. He raises his hands apologetically. "Sorry. I just wanted to talk to you both."

Merriell sits up and stretches. "Let me just move into the shade. I'm gettin' too hot." 

"You've been out in the sun long enough, anyway," Eugene says fondly. "I don't want you burnin'."

"I told you, I don't burn." Merriell's voice is grumpy but he definitely looks pinker on his nose and shoulders than he had been earlier. 

"Sure you don't." Eugene pats Merriell's leg as he walks by and tilts his head into Merriell's palm as he pets his hair once. Merriell plops down in the grass at the base of the tree. Eugene's garden parts there to give him a space to sit amongst the plants, but Merriell has claimed it for his own since they've been here. Once he's settled, Eugene turns back to his brother and sees a strange look on Eddie's face. "What?"

"You're like an old married couple." He sounds disbelieving. "You're 25 and you sound like you're 80." 

Eugene throws some dirt at Eddie, who yelps and moves away to keep his nice shoes from getting dirty. "You come all this way to give me a hard time?"

"Believe it or not, no." Eddie puts his hands in his pockets and clears his throat. "Martha and I wanted to invite you to come 'round to ours for dinner." 

"Oh," Eugene says in surprise. He'd expected Eddie to come around by himself and lay into Eugene a little before giving Merriell the shovel talk. He hadn't expected to be asked to their house for dinner. "Of course we will. When?"

"Martha was plannin' on tonight if you're free. She's makin' a spread." 

Eugene looks over at Merriell. He looks apprehensive but almost excited, hopeful. He turns back to his brother. "Yeah, that works. Do we gotta dress nice?" 

"Nah, just comfortable." They drift into a slightly awkward silence and Eddie clears his throat as she puts his hands in his pockets. "Alright, I'll see you tonight then."

"Yeah, see you tonight." Eugene turns and gives Merriell a wide-eyed look. "He's inviting you over to meet the wife."

"Well, the wife is inviting me over to meet the wife." Merriell laughs. "But this is good, right? He won't beat me to death in front of the missus, will he?"

Eugene walks over and sits down next to him, tangling their legs together. "She'd never stand for him being so impolite. I'm sure I'll still get a talking-to, but you'll be safe."

Merriell shrugs. "I'll take it."

  
  


* * *

  


Father lends them the truck to get to Eddie's house. It's not far - still in Mobile but on the other side of town. It's a nice place. It's one of those neighborhoods that had shot up right after the war and immediately filled with GIs coming back from war and desperate to start a family. The neighborhood is young as a result. Even as they pull into the house in the evening there are still plenty of young families out pushing strollers or walking with little ones in tow. 

They haven't even reached the front door before it swings open. Martha is standing in the doorway with a warm smile. "Eugene! I'm so happy to see you." She reaches out and pulls him into a hug.

"Hi, Martha." Eugene smiles and kisses her cheek. He likes Martha very much and the fact that she's extended an invitation for him to bring Merriell to meet her only makes him like her more.

She turns to Merriell next. Although she doesn't hug him, she does grace him with a grin. "And you must be Mr. Shelton. It's so nice to meet you." 

Merriell looks a little lost in the face of her enthusiastic hostessing. "Call me Merriell, please. I brought these for you, Mrs. Sledge." He hands her a bouquet of flowers that he'd insisted on picking up before dinner.

"They're lovely, thank you so much." She puts her nose to them and smiles. "And if I'm callin' you Merriell then you must call me Martha. Come on in, both of you." She steps to the side and gives them space to walk in the front door. She closes it behind them and moves in front of them to lead them to the living room. "Eddie! Eugene and Merriell are here. Get me a vase with flowers, would you? Merriell brought flowers." 

"Thank you for havin' us, Martha." Eugene smiles as he sits down on the couch. "It means a lot." 

"I hope you didn't put yourself out on our account." Merriell takes a seat next to Eugene though he leaves quite a bit of space between them. Eugene has to fight not to roll his eyes.

Martha waves his concern away with a perfectly manicured hand. "Don't be silly. Eugene's family, of course we'd want to have you both here for supper." 

Eddie comes out of the kitchen with a vase filled with water. "Hey Genie. Shelton." 

"Hey Eddie," Eugene replies as Merriell nods at him. 

Eddie sets the vase down on the coffee table and Martha puts in the bouquet. "Dinner will be ready in just a moment," she says brightly. "I'm gonna go check on it. You boys play nice." She disappears into the kitchen, her heels click-clicking against the linoleum floors.

An uncomfortable silence falls over the room and Eugene's eyes flicker between Merriell and his brother. Eddie caves first with a sigh. "Look, we'll talk after dinner, alright? I don't want to wreck the meal that Martha worked so hard on." He turns to Merriell. "How are you likin' Mobile?" 

"It's nice. Bit different from New Orleans." 

Eddie laughs. "I'd say so. I've never been but it seems a lot more lively. Do you live in the city?"

Merriell hums. "I do now but I didn't when I was growing up. We lived further in the bayou. My family wouldn't have been real welcome in the city." 

"I see," Eddie said quietly, and Eugene figures he probably does. They've never sat down as brothers and discussed race together, but Eugene knows what growing up in Mobile was like for him. Black and white people don't live in the same neighborhoods, don't work the same jobs, don't eat at the same restaurants. They don't go to school or church together, and they certainly don't get married or have children together. Eugene has some basic understanding of how a mixed-race family might be treated - it would likely end with the arrest of one or both of the parents - and he can see how Merriell's family would have stayed in the bayou to protect themselves. Eugene reaches over and squeezes Merriell's hand. 

"'S alright. I always preferred the woods anyhow." Merriell smiles, wrapping his fingers around Eugene's. "More to do and less trouble for me to get into."

"Were you a troublemaker?" Eddie's voice takes on a firm big-brother tone and Eugene drops his head onto the back of the couch and prays for deliverance.

Merriell shrugs, unbothered by the question and Eugene's dramatics. "I guess as much as any kid is. I played my share of poker, skipped school when I could. Got into a lot of fist fights. But I never got arrested or knocked a girl up so nothin' too serious to get out of." 

Eugene slaps his shoulder. "Merriell, Jesus Christ." 

"What?" Merriell gives a cheeky grin, gesturing at Eddie. "The man asked." 

"Yeah well. The man regrets askin'," Eddie says wryly, but he doesn't look upset. 

Martha sweeps back into the room with a smile. "Dinner's on boys."

They all get up and walk through to the dining room. Eddie takes his place at the head of the table and Martha sits on the other end, leaving Eugene and Merriell to sit across from each other. They start serving themselves and each other and settle in to eating. 

Dinner is a fairly quiet affair. Eddie doesn't seem to want to discuss the main topic at hand over food, or maybe he doesn't want to do it in front of Martha. Eugene can't decide if he's glad for it or if he just wishes they could get it over with. 

They finish up eating and Merriell smiles his most charming smile over at Martha. "Thank you for dinner, ma'am. The food was great. Let me help with the dishes."

"Oh no, you don't have to do that," Martha insists as she stands to clear the table.

"It's the least I can do." Merriell takes the stack of plates from her hands. "Besides, I know Eddie's been itchin' to talk to Gene alone since we got here." Eugene scowls at him and is thoroughly ignored. The two of them disappear into the kitchen, leaving the brothers behind. 

Eugene heaves a heavy sigh and turns to look at his brother. "Alright, let's hear it." 

"You ain't got a lick of sense in you, Genie. I just can't understand how your mind works. Who says he ain't gonna hurt you again?" He thankfully keeps his voice low. The sound of running water and clinking dishes drifts in from the kitchen. 

"He might. He probably will. It happens even to people who are happy."

"I ain't talkin' about little hurts and you know it." Eddie clenches his fists. "He destroyed you last time, and don't you tell me that he didn't. You've been worlds better since you came back with him. What if he leaves you again, huh? I don't know how you'd get through it again." Eugene opens his mouth to protest and Eddie holds up a hand. "I don't mean to say that you're not strong because I know you are, but I watched you tear yourself to pieces when you got home from the war. Strong or not, I don't know how you'd survive somethin' like that again." 

Eugene leans forward, angling his body more directly toward his brother. "He's worth the risk, Eddie. Havin' him right now, even if he ends up leavin' again, is worth all the pain." It's not something that Eugene likes to think about, but he's confident in his answer. If Merriell left tomorrow, he thinks he'd be alright eventually. He'd cope because they'd really given it a shot, because he'd have gotten these last few weeks with him.

"You love him?" Eddie looks at him seriously, his eyes scanning Eugene's face as he looks for a lie.

Eugene nods, smiling helplessly. "I do. I really love him." 

Eddie lets out a slow breath and Eugene can see him try to process the new information. It takes a few moments, long enough for Eugene to start to feel nervous. "Then I'm happy for you." He reaches out and pats Eugene's hand. "I'll play nice. I'll get to know him and treat him like family, all of that. But I'm still gonna tell him that I'll kill him if he hurts you." 

A sigh of relief. "I'd expect nothing less."

  
  


* * *

  


Suddenly the only remaining obstacle to happiness that Eugene can see he needs to climb over is the approval of his mother. Father and Eddie are happy for him and have accepted Merriell into their lives but Eugene can see that Mother is still struggling. She's frosty to Merriell and alternates between hammering him with questions and ignoring him altogether.

Merriell would probably be fine with being ignored forever but it grates on Eugene. He's spent his whole life doing things that he found irritating or unrewarding for the sake of his mother, but she can't force herself to be civil to someone who is so important to him. 

They're sitting through another cold, awkward dinner when Mother starts interrogating Merriell again. She's done so at every supper thus far and Eugene has been growing steadily more furious with every passing meal. Somehow Merriell has found the strength not to tell her to mind her own business. Eugene thinks he deserves a medal. 

"What church does your family go to, Merriell?" Her tone is light and curious, but there's something pompous and arrogant about the way she's holding herself that makes Eugene grind his teeth. He's sure that whatever Merriell's answer could be wouldn't be enough. He could go to the same exact type of church and it still wouldn't be as good as their church. Through his annoyance he feels a spike of anxiety. He's never discussed Merriell's religion with his parents. Hell, he's never really discussed Merriell, period. But he knows that Mother isn't going to be happy about it. 

"Oh." Merriell clears his throat. "We don't."

"You don't?" His mother's eyebrows shoot toward her hairline, her tone suddenly cold and condescending. Eugene's hands close into fists as he braces himself for the worst. 

Merriell glances at Eugene and seems to steel himself as well. "We're Jewish."

"You're a Jew?" She sounds absolutely stunned and horrified like he's just revealed himself to be a walking snake or spider. "That's unacceptable. No, I won't allow it." A storm cloud passes over Merriell's face. It's clear that he's doing his level best to keep from spitting nasty words out at her in response and Eugene has had enough. 

Up to this point, nothing Mother has done has been outright cruel or unkind, but Eugene can't stand the fact that she's making Merriell feel unwelcome. She's getting under Merriell's skin, prodding at all of the sore, hidden places that made him leave the first time around and Eugene won't take it anymore. And now, after everything Merriell has seen and experienced, this is how she treats him? Simply because he's of a different faith?

Eugene shoves his plate away with a clatter as he stands. Food spills from the plate onto the pristine tablecloth. "Mother, can I speak with you?" 

Merriell stands as well, putting his hand on the small of Eugene's back. "It's fine, Eugene." He keeps his voice low and quiet, his head tilted toward Eugene's ear. Eugene can sense the tension in him, can hear the anger in his voice and knows that he's spoiling for a fight but trying to behave himself. 

"It's not fine, damn it," Eugene hisses and Father clears his throat.

"Merriell, why don't we play cards in the library?" Father smiles at him kindly but with sadness around his eyes. He gestures to the general vicinity of the library and heads in that direction. "Eugene tells me you're something of an expert poker player."

Eugene can feel Merriell hesitate but eventually he steps aside and lets Father usher him out of the room. He can hear Father talking quietly to Merriell as they leave the room, shutting the door behind them. Eugene refocuses his attention on his mother, on the stubborn set of her jaw and her tightly crossed arms. "What is the matter with you?"

"Excuse me?" Mother stands as well and glares back at her son. "Don't you take that tone with me." 

"I have been doin' my best to make excuses for how you're treatin' Merriell but I can't do it anymore. I brought home someone important to me and all you've done is talk down to him and make him feel like he ain't enough." He can almost see his mother dig her heels in. 

"What did you expect, Eugene? Did you want me to embrace him and welcome him into the family like he's one of my own?"

"Everyone else did!" Eugene throws his hands up. "Father, Eddie, they've both managed to put everythin' aside because they want me to be happy. 

Mother scoffs and shakes her head. "Eugene, all I want is for you to be happy. But I seem to be the only one that realizes that a good future is what will make you happy. You might think that this is enough right now, but what about in ten years down the line? You need a wife, babies, a good career. He's too different from you, Eugene. He can't give you any of that. You'll spend your life hidin'. That man cannot give you a happy life and you know it."

Eugene recoils away from her as her words strike him as hard as a slap. "Mother, I know you don't want to hear it but I love him. I tried bein' apart from him and you saw how that went. Was I happy then?"

"You're actin' like a child." She skillfully dances around answering that question. Not even she can delude herself into thinking he was happy. "Happiness now is not happiness forever. A body needs more than love. You need stability, Eugene. You've been raised in a certain way with certain privileges that he could never provide for you." 

"Mother, please." Eugene hears his voice crack and his mother spies this perceived weakness and grabs at it, misinterpreting it as agreement. 

"I'm your mother. I know what's best for you." She walks around the table and puts her hands on his upper arms.

"You don't." Eugene shakes her off and takes a step back from her. "You want me to stay right here under your thumb until the day I die. I won't do it. One way or another you're pushin' me out. I can't ever be the person that you're hopin' for, Mother. There won't ever be a wife or babies no matter if you accept Merriell or not." Eugene takes a deep breath down to the bottom of his lungs and gives his mother a flat stare. "If you can't accept this then you'll lose me, simple as that."

Mother pales. "You'd choose him over your own family?"

"I'd choose someone who loves me for who I am over someone who loves an idea of what they think I'm supposed to be." Eugene crosses his arms so tight it hurts. 

"I love you, Eugene. I love you more than anyone else ever could." Her eyes are filled with tears and it infuriates him. She's the one saying that he's not enough, that she doesn't believe that he can ever be happy and be himself. She's the one belittling the man he loves. Why should she get to play the wounded party here?

Despite himself, Eugene hears his voice rise until he's shouting. He hasn't yelled at another person since the war and he hates himself a little for doing so now. "Then don't make me choose! Show me that your love doesn't come with conditions that I can't meet!" He slams his fist onto the table with a bang that makes the plates bounce and rattle and his mother jump. 

There's a long pause where the only thing that Eugene can hear is the pounding of his heart and the shaky breaths he's drawing in. When it becomes apparent that she isn't going to respond he shakes his head at her and opens the door to leave. Merriell is standing on the other side with an unlit cigarette in his mouth, looking furious. Eugene reaches for him and Merriell steps forward into his space, letting himself be used as a crutch. There's an ugly glare on his face that's aimed at Eugene's mother. He puts a hand on Eugene's stomach to ground him, spreading his fingers out wide. Eugene feels shaky and numb, like there's static in his feet and hands.

"Why don't you take Eugene out for some fresh air," Father suggests from the doorway of the library. He looks sad and tired and Eugene wishes that he wasn't caught in the middle of his wife and son, but as far as he's concerned the only one who can fix it is Mother. 

They walk out the front door together and as soon as the door closes behind them Merriell pulls him into a constricting hug. Eugene tightens his fist in the back of Merriell's shirt and buries his face in his neck. "You hear all of it?" 

He feels Merriell shake his head. "No, just the last bit. But that was enough. I'm sorry, Eugene." He sways them back and forth a little. 

The apology frightens Eugene into holding on tighter. "Don't go," he begs in a whisper. "It's her makin' me choose, not you. You haven't done anythin' wrong." 

"I'm not goin' anywhere. As long as you want me to stay, I'm stayin'. I'm just sorry that she can't see how incredible you are." He only holds on tighter as Eugene falls to pieces in his arms.

  
  


* * *

  


After his fight with his mother, the darkness he'd managed to keep at bay since Texas creeps insidiously back into the corners of Eugene's mind. 

His energy plummets and he's often so tired by noon that he has to stop and have a rest before he can carry on with his day. Merriell has to gently prod him out of bed most mornings and there's a fog in Eugene's brain that he struggles to clear away. 

It isn't like Eugene had never been sad before he was discharged from the army. He's had his feelings hurt plenty of times in his life, probably more than other boys his age. His mother had always said that he was 'sensitive' as a way to explain his gentle nature. But since the end of the war, he's felt his emotions so keenly that he feels consumed by them. Anger, frustration, fear, anxiety, sadness. They all suffocate him now where once they'd simply nagged at him. 

He doesn't know how to explain this to Merriell without worrying him or scaring him off. He struggles to find the words to express the apathy toward life, the niggling thought that he would have been better off dying during the war. Merriell has his own mental and emotional scars from his time overseas but he handles them differently. When he struggles he seems to need a distraction, something to keep him from thinking too much about whatever memories are haunting him. Eugene can't even find the energy to get up, much less keep himself constantly busy. 

Hiding his feelings has never been a particularly strong suit of Eugene's. With an expressive face and a tendency to overthink things and ask too many questions, his emotions have always been pretty clear to those around him. But now he fights back against his own mind and it feels harder than anything he did in the army. He smiles and laughs and makes jokes, but it's a struggle. He just doesn't want Merriell to see what's really happening inside his head, to think he's crazy or ungrateful or unhappy. 

He's consumed by self-loathing as well. Underneath his depression he truly is genuinely happy or at least knows he should be. The man that he loves is with him, he has the acceptance of most of his loved ones, he's alive and healthy. He can't figure out why he can't shake this misery and just be glad for the good things he has. 

A few days after his argument with his mother, he sleeps until the sun pours in through his blinds and floods his room with bright light. He rolls onto his stomach and tries to press his face into his pillow to block it out.

"Eugene," Merriell croons, pressing soft, fluttering kisses on his face. "Wake up. I already let you sleep in." 

"Feels nice," Eugene mutters as he tries to pull Merriell back into bed. Then Merriell torpedoes the soft, warm mood by yanking the pillow out from under his head and patting him hard on the ass. Eugene swears and bats at him without looking but the sleepiness has already mostly been chased away. He burrows his face into his arms instead.

"Come on. I got somethin' to show you." 

"If you're naked I'm not gonna be happy." 

"Liar," says Merriell cheerfully and damn him, he's right. "Get up. Get dressed. We ain't goin' far." He pats Eugene's ass again before he walks out of the room. 

Eugene gets dressed and goes out in the hall to see Merriell waiting. He seems excited and while Eugene loves to see his joy, he also finds that he's exhausted by it. He feels a rush of self-loathing again. "Alright, I'm dressed. Where are we goin'?" 

Merriell's grin turns crazed as he pulls out a strip of black cloth - a blindfold. "You trust me?"

  
  


* * *

  


Eugene isn't sure whether he's relieved or apprehensive about the fact that Merriell loads him into the truck. At least he doesn't have to count on Merriell steering him away from any obstacles but he also isn't sure he likes the idea of not knowing where he's being driven to. 

"You can take off the blindfold if you hate it." Merriell's voice is light but Eugene knows him and gets figures he'd be disappointed if he did. 

"'S alright. You said it wasn't far."

They can't have driven more than ten minutes before Merriell shifts the truck into park. "Don't take the blindfold off yet." Eugene hears him get out of the truck and slam his door, tracks his footsteps around the front of the truck to the passenger side. When Merriell opens his door for him he reaches out his arm so that he can be guided safely onto the ground. They walk a short distance and there's little he can use to orient himself to his surroundings. He feels tall grass brush against his legs through his trousers, hears the crunch of it under their shoes, and then Merriell has him stop. 

"Alright, you can take it off." 

Despite his words it's Merriell who removes the blindfold. He apparently couldn't wait, radiating the same as a child unwrapping a present. It takes Eugene a moment or two to adjust to the sunlight, but when he does he's left standing in bemused surprise. 

They're in the field where Eugene comes to sketch wildflowers and birds when he needs a quiet moment away. A big old quilt has been spread out among the tall grass. There's an honest-to-God picnic set up - sandwiches and slaw and pieces of pie with a jug of what looks like Rose's sweet tea. Across the quilt from the food is a stack of books next to which his pipe sits, filled with tobacco and accompanied by a book of matches. Eugene just stares and he can feel Merriell fidget next to him. 

"I wasn't sure what books you'd want to read so I asked your daddy and he gave me some from the library. There's a sketchbook in there too - he said you like to do that." The silence continues until Merriell snaps. "Fuck's sake Eugene, can you say somethin'?"

"I don't understand." Merriell isn't a planner outside of battle. In war he's methodical and precise, but in peace he likes spontaneity and impulse. This looks like it took a fair amount of planning. 

Merriell sighs and nudges Eugene toward the blanket. "Sit." He waits until Eugene is seated before he does the same. "You've been havin' a hard time." 

"I've been… I'm fine."

"Shut up." Merriell brushes off his insistence like he would a fly. "You try to hide it, but I know that somethin's been goin' on. You're havin' nightmares again. You look tired all the time and sometimes it's like you're movin' too slow."

Eugene heaves a sigh. "Merriell…"

"Shut up," Merriell repeats. "I get it, alright?" He reaches out and puts his hand on Eugene's knee. "Mama used to get like this after Daddy died. There were days she couldn't even get out of bed in the morning. I know you're tryin' to act like everythin's fine but it ain't, and that's okay. D'you hear me? It's okay. I just figured you needed a break from tryin' to keep me amused and outta trouble. I talked to Rose and your daddy and got everything set up. We don't got nowhere to be today. You can read or look at the birds, but if all you want to do is sleep you can do that too." 

Eugene is embarrassed to feel his eyes sting with tears. "I was trying not to let you know. I didn't want to tell you because I was worried that you might think I was nuts." 

"You might be." Merriell shrugs, unbothered. "But it's not 'cause of this. You ain't the only soldier that came home with issues. 'Sides, I can handle it. I don't mind takin' care of you." 

"Thank you." Eugene's voice is a low murmur as he leans in to kiss Merriell. 

Merriell hums into the kiss but he doesn't push to deepen it. "That's not why we're here, cher. Go on, enjoy yourself." He gestures to all of the books he brought as he lays back and covers his face with his arm. "Wake me if I miss somethin' exciting."

  
  


* * *

  


Eugene's mood continues to fluctuate but he finds he's having more good moods now that he's not worried about having to hide from Merriell. As they head into their third week in Alabama they start to plan their departure. Merriell calls his mother frequently but Eugene knows that he misses her and is itching to go home to Louisiana. Besides, Merriell came and met his family. It's only fair that he returns the favor. 

Eugene and his mother still aren't speaking. They eat dinner in the same room but Eugene doesn't address her. He speaks to Father and Merriell and that's it. He can't think of a single thing to say to her as long as she wants him to leave Merriell and transform himself into the perfect son of her dreams. Even if he was straight, Eugene thinks bitterly, he still couldn't be the man she wants him to be. The war has broken him fundamentally and he can never go back to the mild-mannered, God-fearing boy she'd had before. 

So Merriell and Eugene prepare to leave. They go to dinner at Eddie and Martha's, trying to cram in as much time with them as they can before they go. Eugene may not know where they'll end up settling but he knows it won't be Mobile. They'll come back to visit he's sure, but he wants to spend as much time with his loved ones as he can before he starts the next big journey in his life. 

Leaving his garden turns out to be a strangely mournful thought. He planted and nurtured this garden when he felt like he didn't have anything else to tether him to his life. All of his favorite plants are here and thriving as proof of his hard work. He's poured a lot of himself into the earth here and now he has to leave it behind. There will be other gardens but this one is special to him. 

Eugene knows that his parents won't be able to keep up the lush garden after he leaves so he starts to thin it out to make it more manageable. As always, the garden gives him a safe space away from his thoughts. When he's out among the plants and birds and insects then he's not thinking about his mother or leaving the only real home he's ever known. 

One Sunday morning Eugene wakes early and goes outside to work. It's about 7:30 in the morning and the air is still and cool. Birdsong is his radio as Eugene takes his time weeding, just enjoying being outside with something mindless to keep himself occupied.

By the time early morning transitions to late, Eugene is well and truly dirty. He's sweaty and covered in dirt from the tips of his fingers to his forehead where he'd smeared earth when he went to wipe sweat away. He works until his stomach growls and makes it clear that he needs to eat. 

Eugene pushes through the screen door at the back of the house and his heart jolts when he hears Merriell's voice talking with his mother's in the parlor. He pays little attention to the dirt he tracks into the house as he books it toward the room, heart pounding. Although he doesn't hear raised voices, he dreads to think what his mother is saying to Merriell without Eugene there to act as a shield. 

He stops short in the doorway, shocked to see the two of them standing in front of Mother's table of family photographs. Merriell has a photo in his hands and Mother is standing beside him pointing at the picture. She turns when she hears Eugene stop at the door. "What's goin' on?" He wants to rush in and put himself between the two of them, but neither seems angry or even unsettled. In fact, there's a smile on Merriell's face as he turns to look at Eugene.

"You're filthy." Mother's nose wrinkles but Eugene barely notices her displeasure. 

Eugene groans as he recognizes the picture Merriell's holding. The photograph in question is one of the oldest of the whole family. Father and Mother are seated in front of an elaborately painted screen, dressed in their Sunday finest. His parents look youthful and happy; a young doctor and his pretty wife, both untroubled and unlined. Eddie stands by Father's knees with a large gap-toothed grin and there are bruises on his kneecaps that he's sure his mother scolded Eddie for at the time. In Mother's lap is a solemn-faced, light-haired toddler with too-large ears and a severely parted hairstyle. "Oh Jesus Christ." 

"Eugene, mind your language," his mother scolds. 

There's a shit-eating grin on Merriell's face as he looks at Eugene. "I never thought to ask about baby pictures. Your mother was kind enough to show me a few." 

Eugene shoots his mother a betrayed look and she just smiles back at him calmly. "I forgot about them too."

Merriell laughs and sets the photo down before walking over. "Don't look so put out." He lowers his voice, obviously underestimating Mary Frank Sledge's ability to eavesdrop. "You were cute." Eugene blushes despite himself, can feel the heat rise up to the tips of his ears. 

"Shut it." He glares at Merriell who grins back unrepentantly. "You forget I'm goin' to your house soon. I'll get you back."

Merriell shrugs nonchalantly. "Don't matter. I was cute too." Eugene reaches out to pinch his side and gets his hand slapped away. It quickly devolves into a bit of light roughhousing until his mother clears her throat. They stop sharply, both clearly having forgotten her presence. Merriell sneaks in one last pinch and Eugene turns to glare at him but he can feel the helpless fondness on his face despite his best efforts. 

When he finally looks at his mother, he sees a shrewd, calculating look in her eyes. He's not sure what she's looking for. For all her flaws, his mother's a smart woman and she's had nearly thirty years of practice at observing her sons. He can't help but look back a little defiantly, hoping that she sees that he won't be cowed by her anymore. After a few more long seconds, his mother sighs. "Look at the mess you've tracked in." She's looking behind him, and when he turns he sees that he's left muddy footprints all down the hall. "Take your shoes off and go upstairs to get cleaned up."

He bristles a little at being bossed around - he certainly doesn't feel obligated to obey her orders anymore - but Merriell grabs his wrist before he can react. "C'mon, Gene." Eugene lets himself be tugged from the room and he doesn't spare his mother a backward glance. 

Eugene and Merriell split up in the hallway with Merriell going to the bedroom and Eugene slipping into the bathroom to shower. He gets the water running, leaving it cool to counteract the heat that working outside has left in him. Stepping under the cool stream is a relief and he shivers in pleasure. He lathers up his hair, humming "Some Enchanted Evening" to himself. 

"You got a terrible singin' voice," a droll voice remarks from somewhere around the sink and Eugene's foot slips as he lurches in surprise. 

"Jesus CHRIST!" He manages to grab onto the shower curtain to keep himself from falling and braining himself on the faucet. Shampoo drips from his hair and into his eyes, stinging and making him tear up. Once his heart rate has slowed back down to something close to normal he wrenches the curtain back to glare at Merriell. "You're an asshole."

Merriell is leaning against the sink with a stupid, smug grin on his face. Eugene cups his hands and throws two handfuls of water at him which only makes him laugh. "I stand by what I said." 

"That's not why you're an asshole," Eugene says hotly. "You coulda killed me." 

"Aw baby," Merriell coos, taking a step closer. "I woulda caught you." 

Eugene slides the curtain shut again, blocking Merriell's view of him. "What do you want? I ain't fuckin' you in the shower." 

"Not very adventurous of you." 

"You got the wrong fella if you're lookin' for adventure." Eugene gives himself a long moment to calm down from the scare, to get his heart rate back to normal. "Really though, what are you in here for?" If Merriell had really been hoping to fool around, he'd be naked and in the shower by now. 

He hears Merriell sit down on the toilet. "Just wanted to talk about your mother." 

The transition from thinking about shower sex to his mother shuts down any sexy thoughts he's having so fast it makes his head spin. "What did she say? If she was rude to you, I swear to God…"

"No, that ain't it. Sort of the opposite really. She was nice."

"Sorry, I must have misheard you." Eugene scrubs at a stubborn patch of dirt on his left shin. "It sounded like you said Mother was nice to you." 

Merriell hums. "Shocked me too. I was goin' to the kitchen to see if I could steal some food before I went outside to join you and she called me in. I thought she was gonna chew me out or try to get me to leave once and for all but she was just sittin' lookin' at your old baby pictures. Said she wanted me to see 'em."

Eugene furrows his brow, the cool water traveling in the crevices as he rinses himself off. "That was it? She didn't say anythin' else?"

"Nope." Merriell pops the 'p'. "She didn't try to talk about much of anythin' besides how cute you were. I thought she was gonna go into how she loved you and how she knew what was best, all that shit. But she just wanted me to see." 

"Huh." Eugene sticks his arm out into the bathroom and Merriell hands him his towel. He steps out of the shower with the towel wrapped around his waist, flushing slightly under Merriell's appreciative gaze.v He wonders for a moment if Merriell's eyes on him will ever stop making him blush. "What do you make of it then?"

"I think she's makin' an effort." Eugene scoffs in response. "I mean it. No matter how she's actin, your mother loves you, Gene. Maybe she's realizin' that she'll lose you if she doesn't change somethin'." 

"And I'm just supposed to let it go?" Eugene's voice is sharper than he intends but Merriell doesn't seem phased. 

"I never said that. That's up to you. I'm just presentin' the facts as I see 'em." He shrugs in that non-chalant way he's always had. Eugene puts his hands on the cool porcelain sink and looks at the steam-covered mirror. "Eugene." There's a serious expression on his face when Eugene meets his eyes. "I ain't goin' anywhere, I promised you that. But bein' what comes between you and your mother will be a hard thing for me to stomach." 

"But it's not you that's come between us." Eugene swipes his hand across the mirror to reveal his reflection. "Her choices did."

"It wouldn't have even been a conversation if it wasn't for me." Merriell reaches out and puts his hand over Eugene's. "I just think you'll regret it if you leave it like this. You need to talk to her, forgive her, and move on."

Eugene rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands, pressing them against his eyeballs for a minute to relieve some of the tension in his head. "I'll think about it. That's all I can promise." 

"Works for me."

  
  


* * *

  


Before they leave, Eugene makes sure that he brings Merriell over to Sid and Mary's house. He knows he'd never hear the end of it if he didn't make a proper introduction. They go to Sid and Mary's for lunch and Eugene is surprised to see that Merriell and Mary get on like a house on fire. Mary is smooth where Merriell is rough, polished where he's unrefined, but they make fast friends and leave their men scratching their heads behind them. 

Sid and Merriell are polite to one another and it puts something in Eugene's soul at ease. After everything happening between Merriell and his mother he doesn't think he could stomach the two of them at odds. He knows they'll never be best friends - Sid's too genteel for Merriell to have any patience for, and Sid would be shocked at some of the language Merriell uses, Marine Corps be damned - but he doesn't need them to be anything more than civil to one another.

In regards to the relationship as a whole, Sid doesn't give him any trouble, not that Eugene had expected him to. Sid had been the first person Eugene had turned to when he'd fallen for a friend of his brother's. He'd felt wretched with fear and shame and hopelessness, the knowing that he could never have this boy hurting as bad as anything. He had showed up on Sid's doorstep in tears. All Sid had done was put an arm around his shoulders and say that he'd always have Eugene's back and that everything'd work out alright in the end. The only thing he'd had an issue with was the fact that Eugene didn't find him attractive. 

"You can't fall in love with me," Sid had warned him about a week after Eugene had come out to him. 

Eugene had snorted. "No chance of that."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Sid had looked so genuinely offended that Eugene had laughed himself stupid over it at the time.

Eugene and Sid step outside to smoke, leaving Merriell and Mary to play cards in the dining room. He knows that Sid's been trying to get him on his own since he got here. 

"Eddie called me. He told me about you and your mother fightin'." Sid's voice is slow, cautious. He'd dealt with explosives in the war and it had beat any boyish recklessness out of him. The thought of him treating Eugene like a bomb makes him feel glum, so he takes a puff of his pipe. 

"She's been a real piece of work," he says with his teeth clenched around the bit. 

Sid sighs. "I bet she has. We never thought it'd be simple, did we? Your mother's every bit as stubborn as the rest of you Sledges. Still, I'm sorry she hasn't made it easy on you, Eugene."

Eugene leans his weight against the railing on the porch. "I don't think Mother's made anything easy for me in a very long time." 

They lapse into silence, familiar rather than uncomfortable. Sid looks over at him after a few seconds. "This really what you want? He makes you happy?" 

"Yeah. He's it for me." Eugene knows he sounds sappy but then again he feels sappy when it comes to Merriell.

Sid nods and pulls him into a hug. That's all that's said about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking that this fic will have one more chapter, maybe two. This has been such an incredible experience for me - thank you to everyone who's been along for the ride with me. 
> 
> Chapter title is from 10am Gare du Nord by Keaton Henson.


	15. From This Great Big World You've Chosen Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After spending weeks in Mobile, Eugene and Merriell finally solidify their plans to head to New Orleans. Merriell writes to his mama to prepare her for company and borrows Father's truck to buy train tickets down at the station. He seems lively and excited to introduce Eugene to his family and makes his heart feel warm.

After spending weeks in Mobile, Eugene and Merriell finally solidify their plans to head to New Orleans. Merriell writes to his mama to prepare her for company and borrows Father's truck to buy train tickets down at the station. He seems lively and excited to introduce Eugene to his family and makes his heart feel warm.

Those fuzzy feelings are tempered slightly by conversations about the future that make Eugene's stomach tie itself in knots. The last time they made serious plans for the future was in 1945 and it bit him in the ass hard. He's almost certain that this time is different, that Merriell isn’t going to ditch him in the middle of New Orleans and leave him broken and alone, but there’s a perfidious little voice in the back of his head that tells him to be wary. He does his best to ignore it.

He’s still eager to leave Mobile behind in any case. Despite his mother's sudden change in behavior, Eugene still avoids her and speaks to her as little as possible. He'll speak when spoken to mostly for Father’s sake, but he doesn't engage her in conversation on his own. He knows that it's driving her insane, but he's surprised to find out that it seems to be having the same effect on Merriell.

"Would you just talk to your mother for fuck's sake?" he snaps one night after an uncomfortable and tense dinner. 

Eugene raises his eyebrows in surprise. "What?"

"She's tryin'. She's been nothin' but kind to me for a week and she's obviously sorry. Are you really gonna leave it like this?" He looks genuinely distressed and Eugene can’t help but find it a little irritating. 

“It’s not just about how she treated you, Merriell,” he says shortly. “I mean, that was part of it. But it’s also about the fact that her love for me had terms. Aren’t mothers meant to love their kids unconditionally?” Even saying it makes Eugene’s chest ache somewhere behind his ribcage. 

Merriell comes and puts his hands on Eugene’s forearms, rubbing soothingly. “You’re right, Gene. Mamas should love their babies no matter what and she let you down there in a big way. But I think she’s realizin’ it and I think she’s tryin’ to make it right.”

Eugene shakes his head. “I don’t wanna talk about it anymore.”

Merriell huffs out a breath. “That’s too damn bad, Eugene. You’re stuck with me and that means that we’re gonna talk about tough shit that you don’t want to talk about.” Eugene scowls but it doesn’t seem to impact Merriell much. “If you leave without makin’ things right with her then you never will. I know that you’ll get torn up about that.”

“I don’t need her in my life to be happy.”

“I know.” Merriell’s voice is pitched low and soothing. “And if she wasn’t tryin’ to change I’d say fuck it. But she is. She’s been tellin’ me how sorry she is.”

A dark look crosses Eugene’s face. “She’s been talking to you about it? And that doesn’t strike you as her being manipulative?”

“Might be. But there’s somethin’ real behind it, Gene.” He shakes his head a little. “I can’t tell you what to do. I know that. And I know you’re really hurt by it and I’ll stand by you whatever you decide. But I don’t want this hangin’ over your head. Just talk to her.”

  


* * *

  


Mother is cleaning the china cabinet when Eugene finds her. The drapes are pulled, leaving the room slightly darkened and almost hushed. It’s perfectly still in the room with the exception of his mother who sways gently as she hums and cleans. Eugene knocks gently on the doorframe, not wanting to startle Mother while she’s got one of their fine china plates in her hands. Despite his gentle warning she still starts a little.

"Sorry," Eugene says quietly, moving to stand in parade rest without thinking. His mother's eyes scan over his form and he forces himself to relax. 

Mother sets the plate down in the hutch and waves off his apology. "No need to apologize. I was too much in my own head and didn't hear you come in." They stand in silence for a moment or two. "Was there something you wanted to talk about, Eugene?" She looks so eager, so earnest that it makes Eugene feel guilty. 

Eugene gestures vaguely toward the dining table, wordlessly inviting his mother to sit. She does, a nervous expression on her face. "I've been talkin' to Merriell. He says you've been very civil to him. I wanted to say that I appreciate that." 

"Eugene," she starts, and Eugene has to stop himself from interrupting. He's still not convinced that he wants to hear anything she has to say. But this conversation is about him making amends with his mother, not him speaking without giving her a chance to say anything at all. He sits silently while she seems to gather her thoughts. 

"From the moment you find out you're expecting, you have hopes and dreams for your baby's life." Her voice is soft and slow, giving Eugene the distinct impression that she's worrying over what she's saying. "You want them to be successful and clever and kind, but most of all you want them to be happy. You want their life to be fulfilling and you want the world to be kind to them. And it's your job as a parent to make their lives as easy as possible while helping them achieve all the plans you've made for them." 

"Mother, that isn't fair." Despite his childish words, Eugene keeps his tone non-accusatory and is glad to hear that he doesn't sound like a petulant teenager. 

"Let me finish," Mother says sharply. She takes a deep breath and Eugene tries to do the same. "When you brought Merriell back with you from Texas, it felt like he was the human embodiment of all of the ways my plans for you weren't going to pan out. Everything I'd done to make your life as easy as I could was undone by this one man as if they were nothing. All my dreams of you having an easy life with a wife and children and a home in Mobile were completely gone. You won't be able to stay in Mobile, I know that much. And there won't be a bank job or office parties or a safe and easy existence. Not as long as you love him. And so I hated him." 

"There was never gonna be any of that. I was never gonna fall in love with any woman, and I wouldn't have pretended and made her live a lie. That isn't me." 

Mother reaches across the table and puts her hand on top of his. "I know that now. But I was angry at first, and I thought if I could get Merriell to go away that all of it would go away and you could go back to living that life that I'd planned out." Eugene scoffs and a wan smile crosses Mother's face. "You made it very clear how wrong I was." 

Eugene takes a deep breath. "I love him, Mother. The war got me so twisted and busted up inside, and he's the only one who makes any of it make any sense. I'd fight another hundred wars if it meant knowing him and keeping him." 

Mother's eyes flood with tears and Eugene thinks they're more sad than happy. "If this is what you need to be happy, Eugene, then I support you."

He knows it's not an easy thing for her to say, and even though it sounds like it was wrenched out of her against her will, he can accept it as the peace offering that it is.

  


* * *

  


Eugene sets himself to the task of packing but is quickly overwhelmed. It strikes him that this is the last time he'll live in this house. He's sure he'll come back to Mobile rather regularly to visit his family and friends, but he won't ever call it home again. It feels strange, like the floor underneath him has suddenly dropped a few inches and left him hovering and waiting to fall. 

He doesn't pack up everything he owns yet. He's not sure whether Merriell's place is a permanent situation or temporary so he doesn't want to arrange to have everything moved out all at once. But he takes care to pack his most comfortable clothes, little trinkets that are important to him, his favorite books. He finds Deacon's old collar and slips it into his suitcase.

At one point he opens up his desk drawer and finds an embossed box made of high-quality leather. He sets it on the desktop and stares at it for a long moment before he reaches out to open it. The lid gives way with a creak and Eugene's heart does a funny thump in his chest. Inside the box, side by side and slightly overlapping on a bed of white satin, are Eugene's medals and decorations. A Combat Action Ribbon, a Distinguished Unit Citation, a Bronze Star, a Purple Heart, an Army Good Conduct Medal, and a WWII Victory Medal. He hasn't looked at them since the end of the war. He barely even acknowledged them at the time, barely even remembers getting them. He doesn't remember stashing them away in his desk, but he must have hid them there at some point. 

One thing he knows for certain is that he doesn't want them, not really. They don't make him glow with pride or wistfulness; instead they're a physical manifestation of his albatross, the weight around his neck that drags him back down time and time again. He knows for a fact that he doesn't want to bring them with him when he leaves. He doesn't need to haul that anchor around with him. He closes the box's lid with a sharp snap and sets it on top of the desk to be dealt with later.

  


* * *

  


The date of Eugene's departure from Alabama creeps closer and closer until they're just a few days out from leaving. 

Father calls him into his office one evening after they’ve eaten dinner. Merriell heads back to the bedroom to finish packing and Eugene watches him go before he walks into the room. “Close the door behind you, son.” He’s got his lit pipe in between his teeth and it fills his office with the sweet, thick scent of tobacco. Eugene comes in and sits down in the chair on the other side of Father’s desk. 

Eugene wasn’t much of a troublemaker as a child. He was frail and sensitive and fretted too much about disappointing his parents to be much of a rebel. That being said, there were definitely more than enough scoldings in his childhood. Being in this seat under the focused gaze of his father still makes him squirm in discomfort. Some small part of his mind goes over his recent actions to try and find something that maybe could have gotten him into trouble despite the fact that he's a grown ass man who's somewhat beyond getting in trouble with his father. 

“Take a breath, Eugene. You aren’t in any trouble.” Father smiles at him, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I just wanted to talk to you is all. It’s been a while since we’ve had a real conversation.” 

Guilt washes over Eugene. Even through all of the drama and turmoil with his mother, Eugene’s father has been a firm and steady support. It was never his intention to neglect the man. “I’m sorry. I guess I just got distracted with everything.”

"Nothin' to be sorry for." Father leans back against his chair, observing his son's face. "Are you all packed up to go?"

"Close to it. I've just got a few things left."

"Mother and I can always send or bring you anything you might have left behind. There's no pressure." 

"Thank you." 

Father takes a strong puff of his pipe and blows out the smoke slowly. "I wanted to give you the same talk that I gave your brother before he married Martha." Panic must spread across Eugene's face because Father laughs. "Not that talk. I'm certain it's a little past the point where that conversation would be useful." 

Blushing wildly, Eugene ducks his head. "Might be." 

"I reckoned as much." Father leans forward. "I wanted to talk to you about what it means to commit your life to another person. I think that you understand better than Eddie did about how difficult it can be to love somebody. There'll be days when you don't want to leave their sides, you love them so much; and then there are days where the very sight of them fills you with rage." He points the stem of his pipe at his son. "But when you've given your life to someone, you don't get to walk away so easily. You've made them a promise and they've made one to you, and that means you fight for the good between you even when all you can think of is the bad. Is that clear?"

Eugene is flushed and a little surprised. This isn't what he'd expected to hear from his father. "It isn't like we're getting married," he blurts out before he can stop himself. 

Father looks as unimpressed as Eugene had thought he would. "Just because you're not standin' in a church at an altar doesn't mean you haven't made a vow to each other. You made your vow when you worked through your issues and brought him home, when you told your mother that you'd choose him. In my eyes and the Lord's that's just as good as an 'I do'."

"I won't be walkin' away from him, Father." Eugene's voice is steady and sure. "I won't make him stay if it's not what he wants, but I won't let him quit that easily either." 

"Good." Father stands and walks around the desk until he's standing in front of his son. Eugene has to crane his head back to meet his father's eye and in that moment, looking up at his towering father, Eugene feels like a child again. A wave of homesickness washes over him even though he hasn't left. He realizes that it's not homesickness for a place he's feeling but instead for a time, for his untroubled childhood where his father had the answer to every question. 

Father places a warm hand on the top of Eugene's head. "This will always be your home, Eugene. Our door is always open to you, no matter what." 

Eugene stands and holds his hand out to his father. "Thank you." 

His father shakes his hand with a familiar smile.

  


* * *

  


Father volunteers to take them to the train station on the day that they leave Mobile. He and Merriell are packing up the truck, but Eugene is dragging his feet. It isn't that he doesn't want to leave - he does, desperately. But Mobile has been home base for him for his entire life. Letting that go, leaving all of it behind is strange and more difficult than he'd thought it would be. 

Mother is less involved than Eugene had expected. He'd assumed she'd be overseeing the process of loading up the car and exerting her control over the situation as much as possible. Instead, she's lingering on the front porch and watching fretfully. When Eugene approaches, he's surprised to see that she seems to be tearing up. He doesn't comment on it, but he puts his arm over her shoulders. 

"Promise you'll write regularly," she demands. "And I don't mean once every three months." 

"I will." It's not the first time he's reassured her of this, but he doesn't fault her for asking again. They watch their men for a moment before Eugene thinks of something. He steps away from his mother. 

"Where are you going? You're leaving in a minute." 

"I'll be right back." Eugene jogs back to his childhood bedroom and kneels in front of his desk. He opens the drawer and reaches inside, groping around until he finds what he's looking for. He goes back to the hallway through to the front porch and takes his place next to his mother again. He holds the box out to her and she takes it with a furrow in her brow.

"What's this?" She opens the lid to the box with a creak and Eugene hears her draw in a sharp breath. "Eugene, these are yours."

And they are. The box has all of his medals laid out and displayed against dark velvet - a physical manifestation of horrors of war disguised as glory. She runs her fingers over them almost reverently. "I want you to have 'em." 

"You don't want them?" She sounds shocked, which Eugene fully expects. When Eugene looks at the medals he just sees the horrible things he's seen and done to earn them. But his mother will see the valor and success of her child and she'll feel proud to see them. 

Eugene shakes his head. "They'll just sit at the bottom of my suitcase or in some drawer somewhere. I just thought maybe you'd like havin' them around more than I do." 

Mother leans up and presses a kiss to Eugene's cheek. "Thank you, Eugene. I'll keep them somewhere special." 

Eugene turns to his mother and gives her a hug and she squeezes him tight. He lets himself be held for a long time.

"Mary Frank," Father calls from the driveway. "Let the boy go. It's time to leave." 

"I love you, baby," Mother whispers in his ear. Eugene swallows around the lump in his throat. 

"I love you, too."

  


* * *

  


The train ride to New Orleans is dull and uneventful. The car is busy enough that they can't keep each other distracted with their hands so they play cards instead, gambling with money that belongs to both of them anyhow. 

When they get to New Orleans, the noise in the station is almost overwhelming. Eugene thinks of the small, sleepy station in Mobile and wonders just how much of a change Eugene's set himself up for. He hasn't been in a crowd like this in years. The press of bodies and the myriad of smells and sights and sounds had once been as familiar to him as breathing after months in the army, but now it's foreign and overwhelming. He takes a deep breath all the way down to the pit of his stomach and tries to tamp down on the churning anxiety there.

They won't start out in the city, he knows. Merriell had been renting a place in the city, but between Texas and Alabama he hasn't been living there in months. He'd straight-up refused to continue paying for a place he wasn't living at so he'd let the apartment go. Eugene had fretted about his things but Merriell assured him that his mother and sisters went and got anything out of the apartment that Merriell owned. 

This means that they'll be staying at Merriell's mother's house instead, the house where Merriell was born and raised. This brings its own set of worries. As he starts to get lost in his own head, he feels Merriell softly grab his upper arm. 

"Gene, you okay?" He's not quiet exactly - he'd never be heard over the sound of the crowd. But his voice is gentle and it pulls Eugene back down. 

"Yeah, I'm good. Let's find a cab."

  


* * *

  


The taxi takes them out of the hustle and bustle of New Orleans and within the blink of an eye Eugene is transported into sparsely populated swamplands. It's not like Eugene imagined - old and ancient, creepy in its green darkness - but it's definitely far enough removed from the city that Merriell's parents would have felt safer bringing up their children. 

They drive for quite some time before stopping in front of a small yellow house with a huge front porch. It's far enough away from the water that the mosquitoes would be wicked but not unbearable, and this distance leaves a little space in the front yard for a fenced-in vegetable garden. Eugene's focus would normally be drawn to the variety of plants being grown, but his stomach is churning at the thought of Merriell's family just on the other side of the door. What if they hate him or even the idea of him?

"I know it's smaller than you're used to," Merriell drawls, his voice forced into something approaching casual. 

Eugene turns to him and squeezes his knee out of sight of the taxi driver. "It's lovely. Come on."

As they unload their bags from the trunk the front door of the house opens and a young girl steps out. She's about as skinny as Eugene imagines Merriell was at that age, all sharp elbows and knees, and she has the same long bare feet as he does. Her hair is a riot of dark ringlet curls that seem to grow out before they grow down despite the fact that someone has clearly tried to tame them with a ribbon. She’s wearing a dress that’s several years out of fashion and looks a little threadbare. She bounces up and down on the balls of her feet before she runs and launches herself at Merriell. He catches her and squeezes her tightly, lifting her off of the ground.

“How you been, minouette? I missed you.” Merriell’s turns and gives her a hard kiss on the temple. Eugene remembers the letters he used to read over for Merriell during the war. He'd always addressed his baby sister as minouette - Simone. 

“I been good.” She squirms until Merriell lets her back down. When she turns to face Eugene he sees that she’s got the same big, strange-colored eyes as her brother. They're just as unnerving in her face as they are in his. He supposes unsettling starting is a family trait. “You Eugene?”

Eugene nods and smiles at her, holding out his hand. “I am. You must be Simone. Merriell talks about you all the time.” 

The girl preens at this and Eugene thinks he's made a pretty good first impression on one of his sisters, at least.

As he introduces himself, another girl steps out onto the porch. She’s almost as tall as Merriell and her skin is a shade or two darker. She's very pretty with cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass and hooded eyes that are the same shade as her siblings'. Her fantastically curly hair is pulled loosely back from her face and gathered at the back of her head, secured with a flowered pin. Despite this, flyaway curls still spring out around her face and throughout her hair. Her dress is a little more fashionable than her sister's but still not as stylish as what Martha or Mary would wear. 

She can’t be more than 17 but there’s something imposing about the way she carries herself that makes Eugene nervous. He's never seen a teenage girl who looks powerful, but her confidence is surprising and obvious. She stands as though she's aware of how intimidating her beauty makes her. Merriell steps over to her and kisses her cheek before shoving her gently and breaking her almost-aggressive stance. “Hiya, Aggie.” 

“You’re late,” she scolds him, scowling. “Mama’s had dinner made up for a while.” 

“I didn’t drive the train.” Merriell walks back over to where Eugene is standing. He picks up his suitcase and puts a hand on the small of Eugene’s back, using this to gently push him forward. “Gene, this is my sister Agnes. Aggie, this one's important. You play nice.” 

"We'll see," drawls Agnes, giving Eugene a cool once-over. Eugene fights the instinct to take a small step closer to Merriell, annoyed at himself for being intimidated by a teenager. He's fought in a fucking war for Christ's sake.

Agnes turns and opens the front door, stepping into the house without looking behind her. Merriell goes in next with Simone still clinging to his arm like a limpet. He turns and looks back at Eugene, his face softening at his anxious expression. "Come on, cher." He reaches back to Eugene with his free hand, and Eugene grips it like a lifeline. 

Growing up, everything in Eugene's house had a specific place where it resided. The house was always kept in order both by the housekeeper and his mother, and it was kept meticulously tidy. Most of the time you wouldn't have even been able to tell that there were two young boys living in the house.

While Merriell's house isn't dirty (there's no dust or grime), it's certainly not tidy. There's books on almost every surface while bookshelves are filled with old knick-knacks or pretty stones and shells. The walls are crowded with photographs both new and old, and the furniture sitting underneath the photos is worn well past the point where Eugene's parents would have replaced it.

The air in the home is as thick and soupy as the air outside, but it carries the mouth-watering smell of very fine home cooking. Eugene takes a deep breath, letting the scent rest heavy on his tongue. He's interrupted from his thoughts by Merriell and Agnes bickering quite fiercely in a strange mixture of French, Yiddish, and English. It doesn't sound like anything particularly serious, but the longer they bicker the more heated they become. Eugene remembers all the fights Merriell got into during their time in the army and he wonders if he fights like that with his own sister.

"What's going on?" He walks over, taking his place next to Merriell. 

Merriell is glowering in that way of his that Eugene is all too familiar with. "She stole my fuckin' room." He points a finger at her accusingly.

Agnes tosses her curly hair back over her shoulder with an identical expression on her face. "You were gone for a long time. Didn't make sense to just have an empty room and waste all that space. Plenty of room out here in the livin' room for you and your boy to camp out." 

"We're not sleepin' on the goddamn couch!" 

"Don't be stupid, of course you're not." Agnes' voice is so perfectly condescending that Eugene almost wants to compliment her on it. "Both of you won't fit on that couch."

Merriell lunges for his sister and Eugene has to catch him around his waist before he tackles her to the ground. Even in Eugene's hold he still tries to swipe for her as she stands just out of his reach. Eugene was raised never to pick fights with girls and he would have gotten his hide tanned if he'd ever raised a hand to one. He can't imagine ever hitting a lady, but he guesses he might feel differently if he'd ever had little sisters. Meanwhile, Simone stands on the couch on the other side of the room, bouncing a little as she laughs at the antics of her older siblings. She's apparently chosen Merriell's side, seeing as she sings out encouragement for him to whoop her. It's chaos in a way Eugene's house never was. He and Eddie wrestled and argued, sure, but they were careful to do so in less obvious ways in order to keep out of trouble.

"What on Earth is goin' on out here?" Eugene looks over and sees that a woman who can only be Merriell's mother has come to stand in the kitchen doorway. Eugene's seen pictures of her before, but it's still somewhat of a surprise to see how… plain his mother looks. She's not ugly by any means, but she doesn't have the same peculiar features as her children, or at least they look less striking on her. Her hair is a chestnut brown that's streaked through with gray, and it's more wavy than curly. Her eyes are light brown, and she has a prominent, refined-looking nose. She's shorter than her two eldest and has more meat on her bones. Her skin is almost as light as Eugene's own, but there's an olive tone to it where his is red and pink. Despite all of their differences, she's clearly the mother of her children. They all have her bone structure and her face shape, and when she smiles at Eugene he sees that they share that as well. Not to mention how quickly they fall to order when she walks in.

It takes Mrs. Shelton approximately three seconds to work out the situation and take charge. "Merriell, if you hit your sister I'll beat your ass, don't think I won't. Simone, get your butt off that sofa. Who taught you to stand on the furniture like some wild animal? Agnes, you'll be moving back into your and Simone's room to give the boys their privacy." 

Agnes's pretty face sours as she turns her furious gaze to her mother. "That ain't fair! He wasn't here, and you said I could have my own room!" 

"Well, he's here now and he's got a guest with him so you're sharin' and I don't want to hear another word about it." Agnes scowls but drops the subject. Their mother turns away and Merriell sticks his tongue out at Agnes who flips him the bird in response. Eugene snorts louder than he means to in amusement.

"Oh! I almost forgot my manners." Mrs. Shelton turns back and Agnes quickly puts her hand back down before she can get caught. She smiles at Eugene and holds out a hand to him. "I'm Miriam Shelton. It's so nice to finally meet you, Eugene. I've heard so much about you." 

Eugene reaches out to shake her hand. Her handshake is strong, her palms callused with a lifetime's worth of work. He smiles back at her. "It's nice to meet you too, ma'am. Hopefully Merriell hasn't been tellin' you anything bad." 

"Definitely not anything bad." She releases his hand and turns around again, heading for the doorway that she came out of. "Come on through to the kitchen," Mrs. Shelton calls over her shoulder. "Dinner's on the table." 

Eugene lets himself be led through the doorway into a kitchen a fraction the size of Eugene's at home. There's hardly room for more than one person to work, partly due to the fact that the Sheltons have somehow managed to squeeze a table with six chairs into the room. It's well lit thanks to two large windows, and the walls are painted a light sage green. Instead of cohesive cabinets painted all one color, the storage in the kitchen consists of a mixed set of hutches, chests of drawers, and countertops in varying shades of light-colored wood. The floors in front of the stove and sink have been worn down, and it's clear that the family spends a lot of time in this room.

Merriell sits at the table and pulls out the chair next to him with a nod to let Eugene know to sit down. Everyone gets settled in at the table and starts filling their plates. There's not much talking at first besides 'pass this' and 'can I have that', so Eugene clears his throat. "Thank you for inviting me to your home Mrs. Shelton."

"Of course, Eugene," she says warmly. "You're important to Merriell so you're important to me. He's told us so much about you that it's like you're already part of the family." 

Eugene can't help but blush bright red, and he hears Merriell snicker next to him. To keep from elbowing Merriell hard in the ribs, he takes a bite of the meat on his plate and lets out a noise of surprised pleasure. He hadn't expected the food to be bad, of course, but he hadn't expected it to be so good either. 

"You're lucky," Simone chirps. "Mama almost never makes brisket." She's swinging her feet under the table and she accidentally catches Eugene's shin with the heel of her foot. "Oops, sorry." 

"Keep your feet still." Shelton sounds firm without sounding angry or upset and his tone reminds Eugene of his own father. He's surprised - parental is not a word he would normally use to describe Merriell - but then he remembers that Merriell's been the man of the house for around a decade. He's probably the only father figure Simone really remembers. 

Eugene smiles at Simone, then at Mrs. Shelton. "It's the best brisket I've had." It's not a lie, either, though he feels disloyal to Rose for saying it. 

"Kind of you to say. It was my grandmama's recipe and the one good thing I could make before I got married." Mrs. Shelton smiles. "The greens are just one of the things I had to learn from my husband. I really couldn't cook for spit before I joined his family." The subject of Mr. Shelton doesn't dampen the mood like Eugene might have expected. It's clearly an old wound, healed to the point where thinking of him brings fondness instead of pain. 

Eugene chuckles. "I'm afraid Merriell isn't gonna learn many new recipes from me. My mama has about five dishes she knows how to make halfway decent, and she hasn't taught me any of 'em." 

"You ever even cooked for yourself?" Merriell's voice is teasing. Eugene tries to appear dignified even as a blush spreads over his nose and cheeks. 

"Yes."

"Outside a warzone?" 

Eugene takes another bite of food in lieu of a response as the Sheltons giggle. Even though Eugene knows perfectly well that he's being laughed at, there's nothing malicious about it. It's just affectionate teasing and Eugene feels himself start to relax in increments. 

Mrs. Shelton smiles warmly at Eugene. "Merriell'll just have to teach you then. He's been in the kitchen with me since he could stand on his own." 

"I guess he will." He grins over at Merriell. "Think you're patient enough to teach me?" 

Merriell snorts. "Prolly not." 

This time Eugene does elbow him.

After dinner Merriell and Eugene clean the kitchen while Agnes sullenly clears her things out of the bedroom they'll be using. It doesn't take long - she doesn't have much that needs to be moved, but she manages to make quite a production out of the process anyway. Eugene scrubs at the dinner dishes, listening to the low hum of insects from outside. It feels hotter here than it had in Mobile, the air thicker and more oppressive. Merriell has already shed his button-up and is wiping down the counters in his undershirt. It's a domestic little moment and Eugene soaks it up, picturing them in a house of their own with their own little kitchen and maybe a radio playing in the background while they clean. 

When Eugene snaps out of his daydream he turns to look at Merriell and finds him already looking with a fond smile on his face. For the first time in a long, long while Eugene feels settled and secure. He knows that he can plan out a future with Merriell and that he won't be going anywhere. He's safe in the knowledge that Merriell is as serious about this as he is. And Eugene thinks yes, this is finally the future he's been looking for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it. I can't thank all of you enough for reading this. This was supposed to be a one-shot fic of Sledge landing at Normandy. I thought I'd be lucky to get 5,000 words, and here we are. I might keep writing little snippets of this story or add an epilogue, but I wanted to get it posted in its entirety. I've had a rough few months and I know my updates have gotten slower, but thanks for hanging in there. 
> 
> I'm so grateful to have this community here. Thank you. 
> 
> The chapter title is from They Didn't Believe Me by Johnny Mercer

**Author's Note:**

> This thing has turned out so much longer than I ever intended.
> 
> If you've seen the show, you might recognize some scenes and/or dialogue. They were too good to change. Those scenes and that dialogue belongs to the writers, not me.
> 
> I couldn't have done any of this without With the Old Breed by the real EB Sledge, several books by Stephen Ambrose, and the incredible Pacific soundtrack by Hans Zimmer. 
> 
> Let me know if you like it!
> 
> Story title comes from Silence by Marshmello and Khalid.


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